


The Night of Darwin's Hypothesis

by Dame_DeFaillenot



Category: Wild Wild West (1965)
Genre: Angst, First Time, M/M, Partner Non-Con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-11-23
Updated: 2005-11-23
Packaged: 2017-10-07 06:37:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/62416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dame_DeFaillenot/pseuds/Dame_DeFaillenot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The little doctor smiled beatifically at his captive. "Are you familiar with the theories of the British naturalist Darwin?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Night of Darwin's Hypothesis

**Author's Note:**

> First published in _Gentlemen Never Tell 8_, edited by Marian K. To order this and other Wild Wild West zines, go to [The Depot](http://fanficdepot.com/zines.html)

He was ice cold and burning at the same time.

When he was young, his chores had taken him outside in all weather. Animals needed care even in blizzard conditions. When he got back into the warm house, his fingers and toes tingled and burned fiercely until circulation had been restored.

Now, his entire body felt that way, only ten times, one hundred times, worse.

*****

Artemus Gordon felt his way quietly down the darkened passage, one hand on the dirt wall, the other gripping his revolver. He was absolutely sure that he would encounter a guard soon. It worried him that he hadn’t come across one already. Every nerve in his body screamed “Trap!” If it were up to him, he’d be hightailing it in the other direction so fast he’d raise dust.

But it wasn’t really up to him, was it? Besides the fact that it was his job to stop megalomaniacs like Miguelito Loveless from stealing large parts of the western United States, his foolhardy, jump-first-ask-questions-later partner had gone and gotten himself abducted by said megalomaniac. Again.

And so, instead of sitting peacefully in the train’s parlor, catching up on the stack of journals that had arrived with the last mail bag, he was emulating said partner. Going into a hazardous situation with little planning and only his partner for backup was James West’s style, not Artemus Gordon’s.

“And now I’m doing it with no planning and no backup at all, James, my boy,” muttered Artie under his breath. “Couldn’t you at least’ve left a trail of breadcrumbs?”

*****

His senses were haywire. He could hear a dull roar, the deep tones pulsing to a rhythm he could almost catch. His vision flickered in and out, with shadows crossing randomly in front of his eyes and irregular flashes and flickers skittering around the edges of his perception. The sounds and lights caused his guts to roil, and he had a hard time keeping his gorge down. 

He could tell that he was standing, mostly, but whether the occasional burning brands against his arms, legs, and torso were caused by blows or by his own awkward stumbling against objects surrounding him was more than he could determine. Every so often, he would fall, but the pressure of the floor against his tortured body had him up again as quickly as he could manage.

Right now he was a thing of instinct, responding to basic physical cues of light and dark, noise and silence, hot and cold, pain and not pain. But beyond the spasmodic reaction to the sensations bombarding his body, he could feel a trickle of emotion. Soon, his actions would be determined by another part of his mind; the part ruled by rage, fear, other strong drives.

*****

Artemus didn’t get much warning of the trap that snared him. A click, a breeze, then the net was on him, tangling his arms and hands, tripping him to the ground. The burly goon who grabbed him didn’t bother to unwrap him, just picked him up, net and all, stuffed him into a big black bag, slung him over one shoulder and headed down the corridor. Artie tried counting steps and turns, but the dark and his upside-down position soon made keeping any kind of track impossible.

He reckoned about seven minutes before he was unceremoniously dumped onto the ground. He still had hold of his Colt, and he struggled against cloth and net to untangle it and bring it up to firing position. Not that he had much hope of getting a shot off. He was dealing with Dr. Loveless, who doubtless knew he was armed, and had choreographed his capture to take that into account.

Artie was still working to bring his revolver to bear when someone very large grabbed him by his ankles and dangled him upside-down again. The oaf wasn’t gentle, and Artie bashed his head against the floor hard enough to see stars on the way up.

A second pair of hands efficiently stripped his bindings off, plucking the gun from his grip along the way. The goon holding his feet lowered him, again ungently enough to smack the same spot on his skull, and then grabbed his biceps and hauled him to his feet. The hands returned, this time stripping off his jacket and vest and removing his gunbelt. Artie felt the edge of what he supposed was a chair press against his calves. The goon holding him pushed down while the chair pushed in, and he was sitting. A few quick turns of a rope, and Artie knew he wasn’t going anywhere for a while.

The whole process took less than sixty seconds.

Artemus had once seen a champion corn shucker at a county fair husk and desilk ten ears in less than a minute. Now he knew how the corn must have felt.

When his head stopped spinning, Artemus looked around. His chair was positioned in a sunken area in the center of what appeared to be a cross between a hospital laboratory and a menagerie. On one side of the horseshoe-shaped raised area around him there were tanks of fish and reptiles and a few cages containing small rodents. On the other there were beakers of colored liquids and large metal tables. Artie repressed a small shudder when he noticed the strong leather restraints attached to the tables. He could easily guess what those were for, and his fear for his partner ratcheted even higher.

The open end of the horseshoe was on the same level as he was. It was curtained off, and from behind the drapes he could hear whimpers, moans, grunts and wordless cries. Artie quickly recognized his friend’s voice. He had never heard James make those sorts of sounds before, not even semiconscious and gravely injured. Jim was _always_ in control of himself. It chilled Artemus to consider what had been done to Jim to make him forget himself so.

Before he recognized the source of the sounds, Artie had been content to wait for the inevitable exposition that Dr. Loveless was so fond of. Now that he knew his partner was near and in serious straits, Artie began to struggle to free himself.

Of course, this was the moment when Miguelito Loveless chose to reveal himself. Attended by the big lummox who had manhandled Artie earlier, the maniacal scientist appeared dramatically in the riser section of the laboratory.

“Now, Mr. Gordon,” Loveless admonished, “do you think I haven’t learned my lesson from your previous escapes? This time you won’t be going anywhere until I allow it. And there’s no need to worry about Mr. West for now. He is quite uninjured. You’ll be reunited with him shortly.”

Artie jerked at his bonds again. From experience he knew that meeting Dr. Loveless’ feigned politeness with the same would be the fastest way to get to his partner, so he tamped down his desire to snarl and threaten and spoke with a calm he didn’t feel.

“You seem to be expecting me. I do hope I haven’t kept you waiting.”

“Not at all, Mr. Gordon, you’re right on schedule. Your friend Mr. West has been my guest for some hours now. He’s been kind enough to volunteer to help me with my latest experiment. His arrival was remarkably timely. I’d planned on inviting you gentlemen to help with my work, and here you are! I didn’t even have to trouble myself with a written invitation. It is so nice to have colleagues on whom one can depend.”

“You know we are always at your service, Dr. Loveless.”

“Of course, Mr. Gordon, of course. But this time, I’ve decided to take the phrase literally. In the past I’ve concentrated on making my wishes known using external pressure on the United States government. But my latest work will be much cleaner, once I perfect it. It will give me a way to convince the government from within that returning my family’s property to me is the right thing to do.” The little doctor smiled beatifically at his captive. “Are you familiar with the theories of the British naturalist Darwin?”

“The man with the finches?” Artie had read two books by Charles Darwin, but couldn’t make a connection between the scientist’s thoughts on how new animals grew from old ones and the claiming of California that had always been Miguelito Loveless’ goal. No matter. He knew Dr. Loveless would give him the answer in more detail than he’d ever want to know.

“Yes, that’s the one.” Loveless seemed pleased that Artemus was informed. “His most recent work postulates that Man is descended from lower animals. It’s really a very fascinating idea, and I couldn’t resist pursuing it further. I propose that since Man’s ancestors were the lower animals, those lower animals still live within Man.

“Anyone who has dealt with animals knows that controlling them is mostly a matter of force and simple persuasion using basic ideas like food and fear. If I were able to draw the lower animals that live inside us all up to the surface of a man, how easy would it be to control that man! No complex ideas like loyalty and patriotism to get in the way. Just simple animal drives!” The little man beamed with satisfaction at his own cleverness.

Artie gritted his teeth and fed Loveless’ ego. “I can certainly see the logic in that, Dr. Loveless. Were your experiments successful?”

“Oh quite successful, my dear Mr. Gordon. You see my little friends?” He gestured to the cages and tanks full of animals stacked around the laboratory. “They are the source of the serum I developed. I injected it into men, and the results were beyond my wildest dreams.”

“Could I persuade you, solely in the interests of scientific advancement, of course, to share those results?” Artie’s smooth tones hid his deep concern. It was obvious to Artemus that one of the men Loveless had experimented on was his partner, and he needed to know what he would be dealing with when he and Jim were, to use Loveless’ word “reunited.”

The little doctor rubbed his hands together with glee. “Of course. I wouldn’t dream of keeping these things from you. After all, you and the inimitable Mr. James West will be the final test of my serum.”

This did not sound good. “Your results? Please? I’m always interested in new discoveries.” Artemus used his most winning smile.

“First, I created a serum using the brain tissue of the simplest animals. Fish. Frogs and toads. Even some of the larger insects like scorpions. I combined that with the same sort of material from slightly more advanced creatures like lizards, snakes and rodents. I’m sure you wouldn’t be interested in the many combinations I tried before I hit on something that gave me even close to the results I wanted. It’s all there in my notes.” Loveless waved his hand vaguely at the boxes of paper that occupied one end of the lab.

“And the test subjects! I tried my experiments on higher animals like dogs and horses. When I got to the point where I needed men it was so hard to find enough of the right sort. I needed people who would not be missed should something go wrong, you see, especially early on. I had to import them from a long way away at great expense.” Artie was sure that Loveless’ severe frown had much more to do with his difficulties finding people to use than it did with any concern over the poor men he’d experimented on.

And this was what had been injected into his partner! Artemus felt his guts clench with fear. What would he find when he saw Jim again?

“Finally, I had what I wanted. A serum that made a man act from basic instinct. A serum that made him malleable enough that I could train him, and that made sure the training stuck deep in his mind, so that he could never shake free.

“All I needed to do was inject it into the man’s brain, and he’d revert to simple animal behavior. I observed such interesting behavior. First the subject responded only to simple sense stimuli, like heat, cold, light, dark, loud sounds. Then he’d move up a notch in the animal kingdom and I could train him with simple reward and punishment.

“When he finally came back to being, well, a man, his response to my control was so deeply ingrained that it was as if I had a direct link to his animal brain. Once he was mine, he would continue to obey me, I need only apply the same spurs I used before.” Dr. Loveless displayed the smug satisfaction of successful scientists everywhere.

“If you have perfected your serum already, then why bother experimenting on Jim?”

“But you see, Mr. Gordon. It is the ultimate test of my serum. Mr. West is the government’s best agent, no offence meant to yourself.”

Artemus nodded politely at the acknowledgment.

“His patriotism and devotion to duty are legend. The men I experimented on before were nowhere near his caliber. I needed to know if my serum would work on the upright and good as well as on the derelict and debased. If I can make James West into my man, I can control any man!” Loveless’ eyes gleamed at the prospect.

“And you, Mr. Gordon, you are the log that will prove the sharpness of my axe. You are the hair to be split by my newly honed razor. You will be with Mr. West when he becomes susceptible to the training regimen. If I can make him do my bidding, even in the face of his friendship for you, then I’ll know I have won. And as a lagniappe, Mr. Gordon, no matter what the outcome of my experiment, I cannot see your affection for each other surviving past today. So even if I don’t win, I win! How sweet it will be!”

Loveless was practically hopping up and down in his excitement, his eyes wide with insane glee. He signaled the large man beside him. “Do proceed, if you please.”

Moving down to floor level, the lackey went to one side of the draped area. He pulled the draw cord, and like stage curtains the drapes opened to reveal a cage. Behind the bars, as he knew he would, Artie saw his partner in shirtsleeves and trousers, dirtied and disheveled.

Momentarily blocking his view, the goon advanced on Artie with bowie knife raised, the lanterns overhead reflecting along the bright edge. Inwardly, Artie flinched, but on the outside, he kept a cool stillness and a slight smile. The goon used the knife on the ropes, not, to Artie’s relief, on his body. And true to form, it was only a matter of seconds before Artie found himself locked in the cage with Jim, his shoulder still stinging from the yank the yob had given him.

“I’ll just leave you to test my hypotheses on the first stage, Mr. Gordon. Surely in the interests of science you’ll be willing to give me a full report when I return. And when I do return, I’ll be doing the observing. I’m sure that during the second stage of Mr. West’s reaction, you’ll be much, much too busy participating in the experiment to be an impartial observer.”

With that, Loveless swept out of the laboratory, followed by his muscle man. Artie imagined that like Lewis Carroll’s cat, the maniacal doctor left his broad grin to fade slowly from the room.

*****

Now that they were apparently alone, Artie turned to inspect his partner. Jim was moving aimlessly around the cage. No, not aimlessly. While he didn’t seem to have a pattern to his movements, as such, every time he bumped the wall or bars, he flinched and retreated.

Artie approached his partner cautiously, speaking softly as he neared. “James, my boy, how are you?”

Jim grimaced at the sound of Artie’s voice and continued to move around the cage. Artie tried to get his partner’s attention with a gentle touch to the shoulder, but that brought the same avoidance that touching the walls did. And all the while James was voicing the whimpers and moans that Artie had heard earlier.

Artie could see that Jim was in no condition to help plan an escape. It was obviously up to him to destroy Loveless’ lab and get them both to safety. So Artemus began to investigate their cage for weaknesses. There had to be a way out…

First, Artemus inventoried the contents of their prison. Himself, James West. That was it.

The room itself was actually only barred on one side. The other three walls were natural rock, rough and uneven. Whoever built the lab had taken a shortcut and used an existing cave. Artemus realized that this could be an advantage. He knew the hills in the area were riddled with caves, and that many of them connected to others in ways not yet mapped.

Artie began to go over the rock walls methodically, crawling along the floor and reaching as high as he could. He looked for holes, feeling for loose rocks, trying to feel drafts or catch scents from outside. He tapped and prodded and dug, first with his fingertips and then with a rock he managed to pry loose from the wall. Finally he was rewarded by an unmistakable draft along the floor in the back corner of their prison.

Jim kept up his wanderings, the sounds he was making changing from moans to growls. The new sounds spurred Artie faster. He didn’t know how much longer before Jim’s condition would lure Loveless back, but he was pretty sure that he didn’t want to be caged when Jim changed. Loveless had as much as promised that it would go very badly for Artemus, whatever it was.

Investigating the drafty spot more closely, Artemus found a chink between the rock wall and the dirt floor. Using his rock as a makeshift shovel, he began to scrape away at the floor, and was able to make a hole the size of his hand. The breeze that came through was fresh and scented with pine. Could he have found a way out? Clearly, whatever lay on the other side had to be better than what awaited them in this cage.

Artie set to work with new vigor, scraping away at the floor to expand the hole, ignoring the abrasions on his hands and his broken, jagged fingernails. The floor was not as hard as it might have been, and before long Artemus had dug a long shallow trench under the rock wall of their prison, just big enough for a grown man to squeeze through, if he didn’t mind leaving some skin behind.

As he worked, Artemus kept an ear on his friend. Jim had stopped his aimless meandering and started prowling. His sounds and movements appeared to have more meaning now, and Artie caught his partner looking at him intently as he worked, as if he were trying to asses Artie as a threat. Artie knew he didn’t have much time. It was obvious that Dr. Loveless’ serum had moved to the next stage, and the scientist would certainly be in to check the progress of his experiment very soon.

As if his thoughts had conjured the man, the door on the other side of the laboratory opened, and Miguelito Loveless entered, along with his ever-present bodyguard. Dr. Loveless took one look at Artie’s bedraggled condition and shook his head.

Loveless’ tone was almost kindly when he said, “It doesn’t matter if you escape, you know. I can recreate my work at any time, and Mr. West has yet to get through the second stage of the experiment. Even if you remove him from my control, he will still be subject to his base animal nature. And with a man as strong as Mr. West, well, I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes when the serum takes hold.”

“Thank you for your concern, Doctor, but since I’m already in my shoes, I would prefer to be in them somewhere else.” Artemus got petty satisfaction from voicing his thoughts, figuring it couldn’t make things any worse.

Despite their current predicament, Artemus had not forgotten his other objective, that of destroying Loveless’ lab and experiment. The breeze coming through the hole quickened when the door opened, giving Artie a flash of insight, and immediately he began looking for the light sources in the room.

Using a trick Jim had pioneered, Artie slipped off his elastic braces and picked up a rock from the pile of scrapings at his feet. Taking careful aim between the bars of the cage, he hauled back on the braces and let the rock fly towards the oil lamp directly above the desk full of experiment notes. Artie’s aim was true, and the lamp broke. Artemus watched in satisfaction as burning oil spread over the papers on the desk.

“My notes!” shrieked Loveless. “Save my notes!” The little doctor jumped up and down and waved his arms as if it would help put out the fire.

While he could still see through the rising smoke, Artemus grabbed more rocks and fired them at the other lamps in the laboratory. The tinkle of glass and the increase in heat and smoke told him that he’d hit at least some of his targets. Over the increasing roar of the fire Artie could hear Dr. Loveless change his tune from “Save my notes!” to “Save me!”

Taking this as a hint, Artemus dropped to the floor and looked around below the smoke level for his partner. Spotting him, he launched himself at Jim in a low tackle and brought him to the ground. James struggled against Artie’s grip, but Artemus was determined to save them both. He held tight as he dragged his friend to the hole. Thanking providence that Jim was smaller than him, Artie pushed his partner through the hole and followed him with only slightly more difficulty. He managed to roll them both away from the quickly heating opening before flopping exhausted onto his back, momentarily dazed by yet another last minute reprieve.

*****

Artie lay on the floor of the cavern, sucking in breaths of cold air. Above him he could see smoke from the fire they’d just escaped swirling in the sunlight that streamed through the cracks in the hillside sheltering them. A particularly deep lungful had him coughing, and he curled onto his side until the spasm subsided. He could hear Jim gasping a short distance away, and with a grunt pushed himself up to check on his partner.

Jim was breathing all right, but he was still twitching and shuddering. His eyes were glazed and acrid sweat coated his skin; Artie could smell it below the smoke that permeated everything. Artie figured the serum was still making itself known. He thought back to what Dr. Loveless had said. There were two stages, and Jim had been almost done with the first stage when Artie was shoved into the cage. The little doctor hadn’t gone into details on the second stage, but he’d implied strongly and gleefully that it would be very unpleasant for either Jim or Artie or both of them. How had he put it? “I cannot see your affection for each other surviving past today. So even if I don’t win, I win!”

Now that they’d escaped from Loveless’ lab, Artie was sure that whatever happened next was survivable, that he and Jim would live to fight Loveless and his ilk another day. That was, of course, if Jim lived through this second stage. If he didn’t… Artie shook his head hard to banish that thought. It was no use borrowing trouble, not when he had to focus on helping Jim through his ordeal, not to mention getting as far from an undoubtedly livid Loveless as they could.

In deference to the sensitivity that Jim had shown earlier, Artie approached him slowly. He bent over his partner and cautiously placed a hand on his shoulder.

“James, my boy, it’s time for us to stop lollygagging and get back to the train.” The words were jolly, but the tone was gentle.

Jim jerked slightly as Artie touched him but didn’t pull away. His partner was cheered when Jim seemed to respond to his voice. As if he’d understood Artie’s request, Jim rolled slowly to his knees, then pushed himself with uncharacteristic lack of grace to his feet. When he got there, he rocked unsteadily, then slumped so suddenly that Artemus grabbed his upper arms to steady him.

The two men stood facing each other. Jim’s head was bowed and he swayed slightly, as if searching for balance. Artie braced his partner the best he could, and wondered what it would take to get Jim to look up. Artie knew that if he could see his partner’s face, he’d be able to determine his condition.

As if he’d guessed what Artie wanted, Jim raised his head. Artemus began searching his face for the information he needed about his partner.

It didn’t take Artie long to realized that as he examined his partner, Jim was examining him. And the changes in his partner’s face as he looked at Artie were not comforting at all. First, Jim’s relaxed, almost slack lips tightened to a snarling rictus. Then the drooping eyelids pulled wide, and Artie watched Jim’s pupils expand until there was barely a hint of iris showing. Jim’s hands came up to mirror Artie’s grasp on his partner’s biceps, his grip fierce.

Artie, twisting a little against the painful bite of Jim’s fingers, opened his mouth to coax release. Before he could get even the first word out, his partner leapt at him and buried his teeth into the flesh at the curve of his neck. Artie went down hard under the sudden assault, and the world grayed as he struck his already bruised head on the hard cavern floor.

*****

  
Hunger. His hunger needed, demanded to be fed. It wasn’t a hunger for food, but a baser craving. He needed to mate. Not randomly, either. There was one who was his, who belonged to him but had never been claimed. That was the one he needed.

The image of the one he wanted rose before him: a tall man with dark, curling hair, smiling lips and kind eyes. Broad shoulders and back, strong arms, long legs. A feeling came with the image: safety, dependability. This was someone he could trust, did trust. A name followed, just one name. _Artie_.

Hidden under the trust, though, was something else, something darker. A desire to have and hold close. In the depths of his soul he needed to bind Artie firmly and irrevocably. He needed to claim him and never let him go. Fear of losing what he needed most drove him. He would take Artie, possess him, lock him securely to himself.

He could sense Artie near him. He was gently touched, helped to stand. Artie’s familiar smell swirled around him, so heady it made him sway. But Artie was there, holding him up. The nearness and assistance told him that Artie was willing to submit, to share. He could take now.

Now. He could take _now_.

It seemed to him that he’d wanted this for so long. That his desire had been hidden, denied for so long. Now it was finally to be freed. He could follow his needs, finally, and claim the object of his dark desires.

  
With a sudden leap he bore Artie to the ground. Trying to soak up everything, with all his senses, he roughly bit and sucked the tender skin of the vulnerable throat. Wanting more, he tore the flimsy shirt from the man’s chest and torso, pulling it down to effectively pin the other’s weakly thrashing arms.

Moans met his growls as he mouthed his way down the broad chest. He marked the pale skin with teeth and lips. From time to time the tang of blood hit his tongue, spurring him to wilder action.

His need burned in him. He rolled his mate face down, positioning him to submit. The body beneath him moved sluggishly, but move it did. More cloth hindered his explorations and he tugged it down the legs where it stuck at the ankles. The moaning got louder, and the body beneath him writhed on the ground. It was desire, he was sure. He pulled Artie’s unresisting body upwards, using his own kneeling legs to spread the thighs as wide as he could. With his head resting on the ground, his wrists held bound by his shirt cuffs, and his hips presented high, Artie was the picture of quiescent submission, making the flame of want burn even hotter.

His body was hard and ready, and he pushed against his waiting partner. But his own clothing interfered now. Impatiently he tore at it until his shirt hung open and his rigid, dripping penis rose from the opening of his trousers.

He pressed his naked chest against the straining back beneath him, reveling at the feel of skin on skin. The feebly grasping hands secured there stroked at his belly, firing him higher. His newly exposed sex rubbed roughly along the crack of the buttocks below him. So close. So close.

One hand pulled at Artie’s hips, the other grasped his own straining cock, trying to line it up with the center of his desire. For a moment Artie seemed to struggle against his hold, so he leaned forward and bit down hard on the nape below the bowed head. The reminder of dominance seemed to work, because with a cry the man stilled to submission once again. The taste of blood overwhelmed him and his hips snapped furiously forward.

There! Yes, there. He pushed hard, wanting inside the burning center of Artie’s much desired body. It was tight, too tight, and he couldn’t enter. His attempts must have excited his partner, though, because the cries rose louder and the strong body he held squirmed and writhed.

He grasped Artie tighter to him, holding with teeth and arms. The friction on his overly sensitized cock head was more than he could tolerate, and he felt the first spasm of his climax hit.

No! He had to be inside! His hips pistonned frantically, and with his own slickness smoothing the path, he was able to force his way past the guard muscles and into the body he’d long desired. He grunted his completion as the remaining spasms of his climax took him, his voice drowning out the whimpers of the man he held below him.

Unable to stop himself, he continued rocking into the heat surrounding him minutes after his final release. But eventually his exhaustion won out, and he fell heavily forward, bringing both of them to the ground. His softened penis pulled stickily free causing the body beneath him to shudder and moan. Still sucking at the skin nearest his mouth, he surrendered to a sleep so deep it was almost unconsciousness.

*****

Artie lay as still as he could and felt Jim slip away. Even after Jim had obviously lost consciousness, Artie lay there, stunned. His head hurt, his body hurt, he was dangerously cold, and he seethed with anger. The fury warred with the desire to join his partner in oblivion, and Artie forced himself to think despite the clamor in his head.

Start with the basics. If he wanted to live, he had to move. Years’ habit added the obvious follow-on: if he wanted James West to live, he had to get him moving, too.

In his fury, Artemus questioned whether he wanted James to live. Artie knew that with the slightest encouragement, his rage would take over and give him the strength to kill his partner. He probably didn’t even have to _do_ anything. Just leaving Jim on the cold cavern floor in his weakened condition would have the same result. Artie had been terribly assaulted by the man he trusted most. Surely any action he took now in response to the violation and betrayal was simple justice.

But underneath the anger, and even in his battered condition, Artemus was a fair and honest man. He knew that his partner would never have acted so on his own. Never. It was Dr. Loveless’ concoction that turned his upright, justice-loving partner into a monster driven by subhuman desires.

It was very clear to Artie where the blame lay. Jim had been turned into an unthinking animal by Loveless’ serum, and the two of them had been confined together in a deliberate effort to provoke Jim to attack his friend. The little doctor may have thought that his partner would beat him in anger, perhaps badly enough to kill him, or Loveless may actually have known that the assault would turn sexual. Either way, Miguelito Loveless had planned to destroy their friendship and perhaps their lives. It was a premeditated act of sabotage.

With this realization, Artemus felt something in his chest loosen, and he forgave Jim his part in the ugly assault. With the forgiveness came determination. Artemus Gordon would see to it that he and his partner lived, that their partnership and friendship thrived, and that Miguelito Loveless someday paid the price for trying to bring them down.

New strength flooded Artie’s limbs. The fog cleared and he started thinking again. Yes, he was injured, but that was merely physical. He’d had worse. And now he had work to do, getting himself and his partner back to the Wanderer. Jim’s recovery from the drug would surely go more smoothly in the comfort of his own quarters.

With any luck at all, the horses hadn’t been spooked too badly by the laboratory fire. On his way in, he’d found Jim’s horse grazing half-heartedly on undergrowth, waiting patiently for its rider to return. No surprise, since he’d been tracking Jim from the beginning. He’d left his own mount in the same thick stand of aspen, and knew he could find the copse again. And if the horses were gone, he’d still manage. Given his own condition, it would take quite a while to get back to the Wanderer carrying Jim on foot, but if he had to, he would.

Artie spared a thought to what would happen when Jim finally did come back to himself. He fervently hoped that Jim would remember nothing. Perhaps he’d be able to pass it off as a hallucination. Artie could lie with the best of them when necessary, even to his partner, who knew him so well. As far as Artie was concerned, Jim West would not get the truth from him. Not under torture. Not for a million dollars in gold bullion.

For once during that long, painful day, luck was on their side. The horses shied fitfully and rolled their eyes when Artie came crashing through the brush into the clearing where they waited untethered, but stood their ground. Unwilling to put Jim’s comatose body on the other horse where he would be unable to monitor his condition, Artie gently lay his partner across his own saddle. He would ride up behind Jim so he could act immediately if his partner had difficulties.

Artemus hissed and almost came off the horse when he mounted, unpleasantly reminded of the abuse his body had endured. If he’d had more energy, he would have gotten the saddle blanket from Jim’s horse as a pad, but now that he was mounted, he wasn’t about to waste time and effort. Instead, he just grabbed the reins of Jim’s horse and rode out toward home.

Throughout the ride, Jim slumped motionlessly over Artie’s saddle. Since he was eager to return to the train before full dark, Artemus didn’t spend much time trying to revive his partner. Every so often, Artemus would stop the horses and verify that his partner still breathed, but mostly he pushed doggedly on. Artie couldn’t tolerate a gate much faster than a walk, so he traded speed for persistence, and kept moving, even when the rough trail caused missteps that triggered bright blossoms of pain at either end of his spine.

By the time they arrived at the train, Artemus wasn’t in much better shape than his partner. He could barely swing his leg over the horse’s rump, and when he slid to the ground he had to lean against his mount for a full minute to let the dizziness pass. When he could finally stand on his own, he eased Jim’s body gently into his arms and carried him onto the train, laying him carefully on his bed. Artie took a moment to remove Jim’s boots and ruined clothing, then went to light the lamps and care for the horses. Artie loaded them into the stable car with a quick wipe down and a measure of grain, then returned to check on Jim, who was still deeply unconscious and breathing evenly.

Artemus knew that his own condition needed attention but dared not leave his partner alone for too long. His mouth quirked slightly as he compared the sketchy wash he allowed himself to the inadequate grooming he’d given the horses. The water in the washstand pitcher seemed colder than usual, and Artie hoped his dressing gown would be enough to stave off the tremors that shook him. Bundling himself up and tying the belt tightly, Artie thought longingly of the whiskey on the sideboard, wishing for his own measure of grain, but not daring to add alcohol to the effects of his head injury and exhaustion.

Artemus Gordon spent the night next to Jim West, half-sitting on a chair he’d softened with cushions stolen from the parlor, feet propped on the edge of Jim’s bed, spare blanket wrapped around his shoulders. Jim’s condition didn’t seem to improve, but it didn’t deteriorate, either, and as the predawn chorus of birds began, Artie finally rearranged the padding on the floor and allowed himself to lie flat and sleep.

*****

In the end, it took almost three days for James to finally shake off the drug that Loveless had introduced into his system. Artemus hadn’t even started to worry yet when it became obvious that Jim was on the mend and time was all that was needed. Each passing hour showed improvement: a lighter sleep, periods of lucidity that got longer and closer together, normal movement.

The silver lining to this was that Artemus could attend to his own injuries privately. If his partner had been awake and aware, there would be no way to hide the intermittent dizziness Artie still felt from knocking his head on a stone floor three times. And while the stiffness in Artie’s movements went away within the first day, the bite marks all over his chest were anything but inconspicuous. Since they never bothered with undue modesty when it came to treating injuries, if Jim had been paying attention, he would definitely be asking questions about such unusual wounds.

Particularly troublesome was the deep bite at the nape of his neck. Not only was it in a difficult spot for him to clean and bandage, but his collar rubbed at it incessantly, and Artemus worried that it was beginning to fester. Certainly it was unhealthily warm, and every time he turned his head, it throbbed. If it got much worse, he would have to get help, and Artie was pretty sure that even his skill at dissembling would not be able to explain away what were obviously the marks of human teeth.

*****

  
A week later, Artemus was breathing easier. His partner seemed to be showing no lasting effects from Loveless’ serum. Jim had resumed his usual physical training regimen and was obviously itching to get back to work. Even more reassuring, Jim insisted he had no memory of what had occurred after he’d been grabbed by Loveless and had something injected into the back of his neck. He seemed quite content with the version of events he’d got from his partner’s report and the private remarks that Artie shared with him.

It seemed as though the ugliest parts of the whole affair would stay locked in Artie’s memory to gather dust. And so what if Artie suffered dark dreams that had him sitting bolt upright and sweating in the middle of the night? Artemus was no stranger to night terrors. From past experience he knew that they, too, would lessen with time and distance.

So, believing himself safe, Artie made a colossal error — he relaxed.

One morning Artie was awake first, so he made the coffee. After he set the laden tray on the parlor table, he adjusted his shirt to straighten it where it had pulled askew across his shoulders. The bite on his neck was finally healing, but it was still painful, and as he straightened his neckwear, he couldn’t help but inhale with a hiss and a wince. That, of course, was the exact moment when Jim came into the room for his own coffee.

“What’s up, Artie?” Jim moved in close to his partner. Much closer than Artie had let him approach that entire week of recovery. Close enough that Jim could see the edge of the bandage peeking out from beneath Artie’s collar. “Artie, you’re hurt! What happened?”

“It’s nothing. Just a scrape.” Artemus tried to keep his tone light.

“Let me see.”

“I told you, it’s nothing! I just scraped my neck when we were rolling around on the floor getting out of that cage.”

“Artie, there was nothing in the report about you being hurt. If it still hurts after a week, it had to be pretty bad when it happened.”

“C’mon, Jim, we’ve both underreported our injuries before. You know it’s no big deal.”

“Yes, Artie,” Jim said patiently, “but we never underreport them to each other. Now let me see it. It can’t be easy for you to keep tabs on a wound on the back of your neck. You’d need two mirrors to look at it. Let me just check that it’s not infected.”

“Jim, I said leave it!” Artemus couldn’t hide the edge in his voice, though knew his vehemence would alert his partner.

“Artie, something is really wrong, and I’m not taking no for an answer.” Jim’s hand closed on Artie’s shoulder and he pulled him into the patch of sunlight by the window, angling his body so that the light fell fully on the back of his neck. “Are you going to loosen your collar, or am I?”

Artemus surrendered to the inevitable, removing his tie and loosening his collar buttons. Jim moved the shirt down away from Artie’s neck and onto his shoulders. When the bandaged area was exposed, Jim painstakingly removed the dressing.

“Artie, that’s not a rock scrape.”

“Of course it is, Jim. It’s just deep…”

“Artie, rocks don’t have teeth. What bit you?”

“I _told_ you. It was a rock.” Artemus knew by now that he hadn’t a prayer of convincing his partner, but sticking to his lie was better than revealing the truth.

Jim did not appear to be listening. “Not what,” he mused softly. “Who?” And louder, “Artemus, those are human teeth. Who bit you?”

To get a better look, Jim placed his hand on other man’s skull and pressed gently but firmly, forcing Artie to bend his head forward and down.

As he looked at Artie’s bowed head and pale neck, the vivid imprint of human teeth glaring at him in the morning sunlight, Jim felt the memories slam into him with the force of a prairie tornado.

“No!” He jerked his hands away from Artie’s body and stepped away.

Released, Artie turned toward his partner. He watched in horrified fascination as all color drained from Jim’s face. With an agonized moan, Jim bolted from the parlor to the galley, and Artie could hear the sounds of violent retching from behind the door.

Artie crossed the room and decanted a measure of whiskey. He took his glass over to a chair and sat heavily to await the next act in the drama. Even knowing Jim better than any man alive, he still had no clue what the man’s reaction would be.

After long minutes, Jim emerged sallow and shaking. Seeing Artie’s drink, he crossed to the sideboard and poured himself one, too, but only looked through it towards the sunlit window before putting the glass down with a deliberate clink onto the metal liquor tray.

Artemus was silent. This was one conversation that Jim was going to have to start.

Jim didn’t seem in any hurry to begin. He paced back and forth from one end of the parlor to the other, his hands spasmodically clenching and unclenching. Every third pass or so he’d pause and inhale, as if preparing to speak, then release the breath and continue.

Artie held his counsel and kept his seat.

Jim moved from one end of the room to the other like a caged beast.

Through the window the light strengthened from morning’s pale gold towards the white glare of full daylight.

Deciding there was no reason to wait any longer for his partner to begin the conversation he least wanted to hold, Artemus stood, drained and set down his glass, and moved to leave.

“Wait.” Jim reached towards Artie, but stopped short of actually grabbing him.

“James—”

“You should have told me.”

“What good would it have done? You weren’t yourself, you couldn’t help it. By the time you could understand what was going on it was all over. Water under the bridge.”

“Artemus, you should have told me.”

“Why, James? So you could beat yourself up about it? If I thought you needed beating up, I’d have done it by now, trust me.”

“Artie, this whole week you’ve been taking care of me, helping me get back on my feet. All this after what I did. Why?”

Artie let some of his affection for his partner color his reply. “James. Dear boy. You’re my partner. What else would I do when you needed help?”

“Yes, but Artemus, I… I… _hurt_ you! You can’t possibly want to be anywhere near me!”

“Ah, Jim, I knew you weren’t responsible.” Artie’s tone turned cold. “I know _exactly_ who is responsible.”

“No, Artie, I don’t just remember what I did; I remember what I was thinking. It was you. I was deliberately after _you_.”

“And never would have been without Dr. Loveless’ little helper. No, Jim, as far as I’m concerned, you are not in the least to blame.”

“You weren’t inside my head, Artie.” Jim’s voice and face were full of disgust. “I going after what I wanted, and that was you.”

“Jim, you couldn’t help yourself. You were _drugged_. If anything, I should have figured out the possibility of the whole thing happening sooner, and been more alert. I might have been able to stop you.”

Jim shook his head and continued as if Artemus hadn’t spoken. “Artie, until an hour ago, I thought I was a good man. Now that I remember what I did to you, how much I wanted to do what I did… I don’t think anything could have stopped me… and… well… you’d better telegraph Colonel Richmond and ask for a new partner.”

Artemus drew himself upright, shocked. “What?! Why on earth would I want to do that?”

Jim pinned his partner with his earnest gaze. “Artie, I can’t guarantee that I won’t attack you again.”

Artie snorted. “Try it, James T. West, and see what happens.”

Jim rubbed his forehead and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Artemus, you _have_ to change partners. You can’t trust me anymore. No-one can trust me anymore. It’s simply not safe!”

Artie stood his ground. “I refuse to discuss this. I’m perfectly safe. I can trust you, and I’m not contacting Richmond.”

“And what I did to you? You’re just going to forget it?” Jim was incredulous.

“If you let me.”

Jim shook his head vigorously. “I don’t understand how you can do that. I… I…” He struggled to get the word out, looking as if just saying it was enough to make him vomit again. “Dammit, Artie, I _raped_ you! How can you forgive that? How can you _forget_ that?”

“I’m going to say it one more time, then I don’t want to hear about it ever again, James. You are not to blame. There is nothing to forgive. We will remain partners, and we will do the job we’re paid for as well or better than we always have.”

“Artemus—”

“No, Jim. No more discussion.” Artie turned the full force of his glare on Jim. “You owe me this.”

*****

  
Jim opened his mouth to argue some more, but realized he had absolutely no rebuttal for Artemus’ last shot.  
Very well, they’d play it Artie’s way. If his partner believed that they could continue on as before, then he would do his best to make it so.

Jim got his glass from the sideboard, raised it in silent toast towards his partner, and rapidly drained it. But as he watched Artemus leave the room, he could feel the sluggish stirrings of the beast within, first wakened by Loveless’ experiment, then revived by the sight of Artie’s vulnerable neck, bowed under his hand.

*****

For a short while it seemed as though Artemus was right. Both men focused on the job, and the team worked smoothly and successfully. It didn’t take very long, however, for Artemus to notice changes in his partner’s mood and behavior, and not for the better.

Instead of socializing with Artie, Jim chose solitary pastimes like his conditioning routines or riding out. When they were in town, Jim was unusually eager for female companionship, and his choices were not his usual flirtations with socialites and bankers’ daughters. Jim’s engagements turned away from the polite, with fewer invitations to tea and more time spent upstairs at drinking establishments.

When he did spend time on board, it was in his own room, or sitting silent in the parlor with _Do Not Disturb_ written all over his demeanor. Jim was drinking more, too. The variable level in the whiskey decanter testified that it was being used and refilled more than it had been for as long as Artie could remember.

Artemus missed the companionship he’d become accustomed to, but hesitated to bring the matter up. Since he had been the one to veto the discussion before, he knew calling his partner on any changed behavior was out of the question.

All Artie could do was hope that James’ regular behavior would reassert itself after his partner had worked the trauma of the episode with Loveless out of his system. After all, his own nightmares had faded, as he knew they would. Chances were good that Jim would get back to normal in time, too. Until then, Artemus had to stand back and let Jim deal with things as he saw fit.

Of course, as soon as he made the decision to wait until things righted themselves, Artemus found his hands-off policy sorely tested.

The mission started out routinely. A suspected counterfeiter had set up shop just south of Kansas in the unorganized Oklahoma territory. It was hard enough to convince the residents of the young state to accept National Bank Notes as legitimate currency. If this forger was allowed to flood the area with fake bills, it would destabilize the money supply all over again. So James West and Artemus Gordon were assigned to shut down the press and deliver the forger and his plates to the Federal Marshal’s office in Leavenworth.

Unfortunately for the partners, word of their approach had preceded them. When Artemus went in disguise to reconnoiter, the suspicions of the gang were already roused. They were taking no chances with strangers, and held Artie to await the return of the boss, gone into town to perform a little currency exchange.

Artemus was pretty sure he could convince them that he was as innocuous as he seemed and, ever resourceful, he used his capture and detention to find out as much as he could about the operation.

It was only about a day and a half before the forger himself returned to the enclave to interrogate Artemus. By then, Artie reckoned he had all the information he needed to complete the assignment, and was determined to make his escape that night and rejoin his partner in order to wrap the forger, the gang, and the plates into one neat package for special delivery by rail to Leavenworth.

Artie was actually enjoying using his acting skills to convince the counterfeiter that he was nothing but the nostrums peddler he seemed when all hell broke loose. It was true that the forger had drawn on Artie, but it was more a threat than a promise. He had almost talked his way off the point of the man’s revolver when Jim came thundering in, both Winchester and Colt drawn and ready for action.

At that point, of course, Artemus had no choice but to wade in, and soon it was a melee. In the end, nothing was as Artie had planned. The counterfeiter and one gang member were dead, the former shot by Jim and the latter by his own compatriots, the press was ablaze and the plates were shattered. The partners hadn’t escaped unscathed, either. Artie had bruised ribs, and Jim had a black eye and a bullet crease high on his right bicep.

After the dust settled and the remaining members of the gang were locked up on the train, Artie and Jim retired to the parlor to tend their own injuries. There, as he dressed Jim’s arm, Artie couldn’t stay quiet about what had happened.

“What the hell was that all about, James? I had him buffaloed. A few more minutes and he would have been buying hair tonic! Instead, he’s shopping for a casket.”

Jim’s reply was wooden. “I saw him point his gun at you.”

“Not the first time it’s happened, won’t be the last. If I thought I was in danger, I would have signaled you. I knew you were watching.”

“I couldn’t take the chance.”

“Bullshit!” Artie was glad to see his rarely used profanity startle Jim. “You’ve seen me threatened before. Hell, you’ve watched me get smacked around before without galloping in like the Seventh Cavalry. Suddenly you don’t trust me to read a situation? We could have made a nice clean sweep of the whole operation, but instead of playing it by the book, you had to ride to the rescue. Colonel Richmond is going to rake us both over the coals for a rookie mistake like that!”

“Artie, he was pointing…” Jim stopped as Artemus glared at him, then continued sullenly. “All right. You want me to apologize? I’m sorry. Put in the report that the error was mine.”

“Oh, for… What I want is for you to think like an experienced agent, not like some wet-behind-the-ears novice!”

“Are you finished with me?” Jim’s question could have been about his arm, but Artemus knew it wasn’t.

  
“Yes, James, I’m through.” Artie sighed.

“Fine. I’ll see you later.”

Artemus watched in silence as Jim stopped at the sideboard and got a large whiskey on his way out of the parlor. He sighed deeply again, jarring his bruised ribs, and shook his head as he began to clean away the supplies he’d been using to doctor Jim. He didn’t know what he’d do if his partner’s mood didn’t improve soon.

The trip north to Leavenworth was a study in isolation. Every time Artemus entered a room, Jim left it. Artie had never really considered how many places there were to hide on the train.

Artie tried to coax James into games of chess or poker, but got no response. He tried cooking elaborate meals to draw Jim out, but his partner’s only reply was grunted thanks and disappearance immediately after the dishes were washed, usually with a large glass of whiskey as his companion. Finally, Artemus got tired of trying and spent long hours in his lab, catching up on journals and working to perfect various gadgets.

Circumstances continued against them in Leavenworth. No sooner had they’d dropped their prisoners with the Federal Marshal when the word came from the nearby prison at Fort Leavenworth — four dangerous inmates had escaped and needed to be recaptured. While that sort of thing was not usually the partners’ bailiwick, they could hardly refuse when the marshal requested their help. The escaped prisoners were dangerous men, Army deserters and murderers, and the marshal was determined to apprehend them before they could threaten the widespread farm population of eastern Kansas.

Parties were sent in all directions, and West and Gordon headed north along the wooded bluffs overlooking the Missouri River. The prisoners’ trail had led westward, and others were following it, but the escapees must have doubled back, because Jim and Artie soon spotted signs of four men moving quickly northward.

Reading the trail, they could tell that the inmates were mounted, and about two hours ahead. They seemed to be heading north with a purpose, which was good. They could have decided to invade one of the isolated farms in the area and gone to ground. That would have made finding them much harder, as well as putting a farm family in terrible danger.

It stood to reason that the escaping party would stop for the night, and after a brief conference Jim and Artie decided to get as close as they safely could, then make their move to recapture at first light. Artemus suggested that, considering who the escapees were, perhaps the two of them shouldn’t try to take all on four by themselves, but wait for the searchers who had started trailing the men back at the fort. Jim vetoed this right off, with a stinging reference to Artie’s courage. Artie had to settle for sticking a note in a conspicuous place, and figured he was lucky that his partner gave him the time for that.

Any further attempt to advise caution went unheeded, and when Jim finally said, “I’m doing this alone if I have to,” Artemus gave up.

As soon as they could smell wood smoke, they stopped. They didn’t dare build a fire themselves, so made do with a cold meal and settled down to spend the night. Artie took the first four-hour watch.

Pacing slowly to keep warm, Artemus took advantage of the solitude to think. For the first time since he and Jim had been partnered, Artemus had doubts. Even in the beginning, when they were learning each other’s styles, there was an almost instinctive trust. Now, it seemed that they had never been more out of sync. After the fiasco of the last assignment, Artie had no idea which way his partner would jump. He was downright frightened that James didn’t trust him anymore, and trying to recapture these dangerous men without that trust could get them both killed.

Jim West was too experienced not to know this. Yet he insisted on a foolhardy and quite possibly fatal course of action. Artemus tried to banish the sudden thought that Jim was deliberately putting himself in peril, but he couldn’t deny the possibility.

His watch over, Artie woke Jim and curled up in the blanket Jim had warmed during his sleep. Before he drifted off, Artie sighed and admitted to himself that all he could do was his best to keep his partner alive and hope that the darkness eating at Jim’s soul would let go and give him his old James back sometime soon.

Jim woke Artie with a hand on his shoulder. “It’s time. I went to look at their camp. They’ve got one on watch and the others were still asleep.”

Artemus scrubbed at his face with his hands. Damn fool partner could have woken him up _before_ he left to wander into the lion’s den. Artie put it on the list of things he’d be discussing with Jim when this was all over.

Scrambling to his feet, Artemus began arming himself. Winchester rifle, Colt revolver, ammunition for both, Bowie knife, throwing knives, rope.

“You want the guard or the sleepers?” Artie asked his partner.

“Sleepers.”

“Lay on, Macduff.”

As they moved through the woods towards the fugitives’ camp, Artemus could almost believe that things were back to normal. He couldn’t see Jim, but he knew where he was, knew exactly where to look as Jim stepped out of the shadows for a few seconds to indicate with a quick gesture the direction and possible distance of the escapees’ watch. Artemus moved to where Jim had pointed and focused on his task, for now putting any doubts aside and trusting his partner.

Artie made his way silently through the pre-dawn woods, keeping to the shade of trees and watching carefully for his man. There! Artemus froze, then drew back into the shadows to decide his course of action. The man he was after was shifting from foot to foot, obviously trying to keep awake and warm in the early morning chill. Artie figured the direct approach would be the most expedient, and drawing his revolver moved silently behind the man.

“Hands in the air.” Artie’s soft voice came the instant the barrel of his gun touched the man’s back. The fugitive immediately complied.

While he was arresting the guard Artie heard a commotion to his right. That would be Jim securing the camp.

Artemus reholstered his gun so he could better secure his captive. As he worked, he chatted pleasantly about the warm cell and three squares waiting back at the fort when a faint rustle in the bushes alerted him, sending his hand to the butt of his gun. Before he could draw, Artemus found himself knocked to the ground, staring along the barrel of another man’s pistol.

“Well, well. Here’s another one! You fellas are just crawling out of the bushes today.” The man’s jovial tones quickly turned cold. “Stand up nice and slow. Keep your hands where I can see them.”

Artemus did as he was told.

“Take your gun out slow. Good. Now set it down. Carefully! Knife too. Richie, can you get loose by yourself? Untie my friend, but keep your hands in plain sight.” When the man Artie had apprehended was free, the gunman directed, “Give him the ropes. Richie, tie our boy’s hands behind him.” The first man was not gentle in returning the favor.

When Artie’s wrists were bound behind his back, Richie suggested, “Let’s go, Crane.”

Unfortunately for Artemus, the gunman had other ideas. “I’m thinking we should just get rid of this one.”

“Crane, we’re already in enough trouble. Killing an army man would only make it worse.”

“I already brained the other one. Might as well do this one, too. It’ll sure slow down whoever else is following us when they find the bodies.”

Bodies. Artemus closed his eyes and swallowed heavily. James was dead.

Despair gripped Artie’s heart and tightened down. He could swear he felt the blood in his veins slow and stop as the pumping organ stuttered and died. Artie found himself thankful that he wouldn’t have to live much longer with this unbearable pain.

Crane noticed his prisoner’s sudden pallor. “Friend of yours, huh? I guess I’ll be doing you a favor when I send you to join him.”

Crane raised his revolver and pulled back the hammer. The ratchet as the cylinder moved into firing position echoed through the dawn clearing. Artemus stared grimly at his executioner as the man took aim.

The very instant the gunman’s finger tightened on the trigger, something large moved in the brush. Crane swung his Colt toward the disturbance, and suddenly the clearing exploded into motion. Artie took advantage of the distraction to dive to the ground and roll into the shadow of the trees. Richie went for Artie’s Peacemaker, lying on the ground, and at the far side of the clearing, opposite from the original disturbance, a macabre, blood-covered figure of a man rose from the brush, shouting and brandishing a revolver.

Crane was quick. It didn’t take him long to figure that he’d been distracted by a ruse. He turned toward the real threat, his gun up and ready to fire. He never got a chance to pull the trigger. The shot from the spectre across the clearing took him in the heart, the force of the bullet spinning him another half turn before he fell dead not a yard from where Artemus lay, his open eyes staring lifelessly toward the man he had tried to kill just seconds before.

As the echoes from the shot faded, the sound of a cocking revolver came again. Artie raised his eyes to find himself once more at the end of gun barrel. Richie had Artie’s own Colt trained on him, but he was staring wide-eyed across the clearing at the man who had killed Crane.

“Crane said he killed you.” Richie’s voice shook, but his aim was steady on Artie.

Artemus could understand Richie’s skittishness. James West, for it was he, was covered in blood. A sluggish rivulet still ran down one side of his face. His eyes were staring mad, and his lips pulled back into a mirthless grin. He could easily have been a shade from the underworld, returned to wreak vengence on his killer.

“He was wrong.” Even West’s voice was unnatural, hollow and rough. Jim’s eyes didn’t leave Richie as he called for his partner. “Artemus?”

“Here, Jim.” Artie couldn’t help the slight tremor in his own voice. Not a minute ago he’d thought his friend dead.

Richie swung his gaze toward Artie. “You stay right there!” he ordered, then quickly looked back to Jim. “And you, put the gun down slowly or I’ll shoot your friend.” While Richie was dealing with Jim, Artie took the opportunity to shift back into the shadows.

Jim’s tones smoothed to a deadly purr. “You wouldn’t want to do that. You saw how fast I can be. Next time you even _look_ toward Artemus, I’ll put a bullet through your heart, too.”

“What about Siler and Darnelle? I didn’t hear gunshots.”

“I’m just as good with a knife.”

Richie was clearly panicking. Should he believe this gore-covered madman that his fellow escapees were dead? Put down his weapon and go back to prison? Or try to shoot two lawmen and make a run for it?

Artemus had had enough bloodshed, and decided end the standoff. “Richie,” he said gently. “No, don’t look at me. Just put your gun down. You don’t want to tangle with James. He really is that good.”

The nervous felon slowly lowered the gun to the ground, keeping his eyes on Jim the whole time.

“That’s right, nice and slow. No need for you to get hurt, too.” Artemus kept up a steady calming stream of words as he shifted his legs under him and stood up. “Back away now, that’s right. Raise your hands.” Richie did as he was told.

Artie looked over at his partner. Jim hadn’t moved. He was still aiming at the unarmed fugitive. Keeping well out of the line of fire, Artemus moved stiffly toward his partner. Still dealing with the echos of his earlier emotion, Artie didn’t notice when his toe caught at one of the many exposed roots on the clearing floor. His bound arms made recovering his balance impossible, and he fell heavily to the ground.

Richie spun around and ran full tilt towards the safety of the trees. Unfortunately for him, he hadn’t reckoned with Jim West’s reflexes, aim, or anger. Without a second’s thought, Jim coldly aimed and fired, dropping the man in mid-stride. Then, with the same eerie calm, he holstered his gun, walked to his horrified friend, and helped him to his feet.

Artie gaped at Jim as his partner freed his wrists. For the first time he could remember, he had nothing to say. There was nothing he could say. His friend and partner, James West, the Secret Service’s finest agent, had just shot an unarmed man in the back.

It was all perfectly legal. Jim was a federal agent, charged with the protection of the populace. The man was a fugitive and a convicted murderer. He’d held a gun on Artie not moments before. But the James West Artie had come to know would never have taken the shot. That James West was constitutionally incapable of firing on an unarmed man. That James West held himself to a higher standard; made everyone around him want to match that standard, too. This James West — this battered, dirty, cold-eyed man — Artemus didn't know him at all, and that frightened him more than he wanted to admit.

Artemus shook off the shiver that ran down his back at the thought of a James West unfettered by integrity. There was cleanup to be done, and it would be hours before he could get Jim alone to address the events of the day. And if his partner thought he’d be able to escape this discussion, he’d discover that Artie could find him no matter where he tried to hide.

*****

  
Back on the Wanderer, Jim again found himself under the hands of his partner. Before he could blink Artemus had his bloodied shirt stripped off and thrown away as a total loss, and the top layer of grime and blood sluiced off with a quick wash. Then, Artie really got to work on him, scrubbing away the embedded dried blood with more industry than gentleness, probing carefully along his skull looking for damage from the blow that took him down, inching his fingers through Jim’s hair looking for the cuts that had bled so copiously.

“Well, I don’t think you’ll need stitches, thank God. I wouldn’t want to try to shave your head right now. You look bad enough as it is. And your skull is whole, though the Lord alone knows why it’s not crumbled into little pieces. What size boulder did he hit you with?”

Artemus was giving Jim a chance to get things back to normal. The old James would have fallen into the light banter easily, telling the story of his injury and recovery with a wry smile and a twinkle in his eye. This Jim just muttered, “Who knows? Who cares?”

The churlish answer snapped Artie’s fragile patience, and he let his own anger show. “How on earth did you let them get you in the first place? Did you march into the middle of camp and say ‘Put your hands up, you’re under arrest?’”

“Something like that,” Jim mumbled sullenly.

“You’re not going to tell me, are you? You did something idiotically stupid and you won’t tell me what it was. And whatever it was, it almost got you killed. I thought you _had_ been killed. If your damn fool head wasn’t so hard, you _would_ be dead.” Artemus was on a roll, and he wasn’t about to let his partner off the hook. “Is there a reason you’re trying to get yourself killed? Or are these just whims that take you by surprise?”

“Won’t do it again.”

“That’s it? ‘Won’t do it again?’ That’s all I get?”

“Yeah, that’s all you get. Why do you care, anyway? I saved your hide today, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

“Not to be perverse, Jim, but maybe you endangered it first, with whatever you did in that camp.”

“Maybe. I said I wouldn’t do it again.”

“You’ll pardon me if I have trouble believing that. It’s not the first time recently you’ve acted before thinking. I’m guessing that’s your new _modus operandi_.”

“And if it is?”

“If it is, if this is the kind of agent you’re going to be from now on, I’m not sticking around to watch you die.”

“Artemus, you’re exaggerating.” Sensing his partner’s seriousness, Jim tried to mollify him.

“I don’t think I am. You killed four men today, Jim. You shot one of them in the _back_. And you had to because you went in without thinking or preparing. We’re not working together anymore, Jim. You’re running wild and I’m just doing my best to clean up after you. I don’t like it. I want my partner back!”

“Well, you’ll have to make do with me, because this is how I’m going to be for the foreseeable future.” Jim spread his arms and executed a small bow in Artie’s direction, a sardonic tilt to his handsome lips.

“No, I don’t think I will.” Artemus realized that at some level his decision had been already made. He couldn’t do this anymore. His partner was on a self-imposed downward spiral. He wouldn’t allow Artie to help, and Artie didn’t have the strength to stick around and witness the ignoble end of the best man he’d ever known.

“Artie?”

“I don’t think I’ll make do with you. I’d rather make do without you than see you turn in to a foolhardy daredevil who’s obviously trying to get himself killed. I’ve got two weeks leave coming. I’ll wire Colonel Richmond that I’m taking them immediately. After that, I plan to resume my work elsewhere. I’m through watching you step in front of bullets. You got lucky twice, and I’m not waiting around until your luck runs out.”

*****

Artemus Gordon’s first assignment after leaving James West’s company was in an small town in Montana Territory. Virgina City had the railroad, but only just. There was still a lot of empty space in that part of Montana, and most of it was open for homesteading. In the past year or so there had been a lot of claims in the area. And a lot of claim disputes. Even reports of threats to homesteaders and potential homesteaders when they tried to file. It wasn’t a rich area, and there didn’t seem to be that many people heading out there. The numbers just didn’t add up. So the federal government decided it needed to investigate.

Artemus’ job was reconnaissance. He was to get familiar with the area and the people in it, and try to find out if there was something untoward about the situation. It was a task that would take time. Artie had to establish himself in the town, so he went in as the new schoolmaster, a Mr. Josiah Barnard, complete with spectacles, mild demeanor, and unkempt hair.

It suited Artemus to be someone else for a while, and he embraced his new persona gratefully. Only late at night when he wrote his reports and prepared the lessons for the dozen or so children in the town school did Artie let himself dwell on the dissolution of his most successful partnership. And, if he were being honest with himself, which was hard to avoid in the solitude of a chilly night, the ending of the closest friendship he’d ever known.

He turned it over and over in his head. What could he have done? What should he have done? How much of the change in Jim had been _his_ responsibility?

Artie couldn’t see dealing with the rape and its aftermath in any way other than how he’d always dealt with the bad things in his life — get over it, move on, let it go. Artemus’ youth had been rough. His family had not been well-to-do. As a child he’d suffered from hunger, illness, and the prejudice that comes from being different. Artie had decided early on that he couldn’t afford to let things he couldn’t control haunt him. It had served him well to be able to look forward and get beyond the bad experiences. This philosophy had worked with the tribulations of his childhood, it had worked as he struggled to support himself as a young man alone in a strange country, and it had worked as he watched and lived through the horrors of the War. Why was it suddenly failing him now?

For what must have been the hundredth time, Artemus went over it. Loveless had injected James with a serum that made James revert to animal behavior. James had exhibited that behavior by mating with Artemus. When Jim remembered what he’d done, he claimed that he was aware of who Artemus was and what he wanted from him, even though it had obviously horrified him to have hurt his partner.

Recently, a new question had been added to Artie’s list: what part of the whole thing had horrified Jim? That he’d hurt Artemus, that he’d forced himself on Artemus, or that he’d had relations with a man?

Artie would never know. In his rush to put the experience behind them, he’d never found out what concerned his partner.

Maybe he hadn’t wanted to look too closely at it. He’d managed to settle the blame squarely on Loveless’ scrawny shoulders, and he wanted to keep it there. If he’d thought about it any more, if he’d let James worry at it, Artie might have had to get angry at his partner, blame his partner for what had occurred. Or worse, maybe he’d have to examine the feeling that he’d been cheated, that they’d been cheated.

In all Artie’s travels and experience, he’d never seen a man as handsome and virile as James West who still carried about himself the essence of gentlemanliness. The good looking men Artie had come across were either masculine and rough, or graceful and effeminate. To meet a man who embodied the best of the physical graces and the social graces was unusual. To have that man come to value such an old reprobate as Artemus Gordon, to work with him and trust him and call him friend — that was a gift beyond imagining.

Artemus had always been mildly ashamed that he’d occasionally looked on his partner with prurient interest. But since he knew he’d never act on that interest, never even bring it up, he forgave himself. After all, Artemus’ experience in the theater had led him to appreciate the body in all its guises, and James was an incredible specimen of the human male.

To discover in such a violent way that Jim harbored the same hidden interests… It just wasn’t fair. Artie was willing to bet that before Loveless’ serum, James had no inkling of his own desires. And because they revealed themselves in such a tortured fashion, his partner — former partner — could only see them as something evil, to be repressed. James West was not used to seeing himself as out of control, and the realization that he had within him the capacity for unchecked violence, toward a friend no less, had obviously shaken him to his core. Artemus couldn’t tell if Jim’s new behavior was a form of self-punishment or simply surrender to the dark maelstrom churning within him.

Artemus cursed himself. Why couldn’t he have figured it out before he’d left? He could see his best friend was hurting. Did he listen, _really_ listen, to the undercurrents below the isolation, the drinking, the sullen silences? No. He tried to force his own obsolete survival tactics, the hiding, the ignoring, the sweeping under the rug, onto his forthright partner. And in his guilt, Jim had done as Artie had asked. Now they were both paying the price.

Artemus couldn’t suppress a mirthless chuckle. At least he wasn’t furious at Jim anymore. Now, Artie only had to live with knowing he himself was the kind of man who abandoned his best friend, leaving him wrestle with the demons of chaos alone.

Staring out the boarding house window towards the empty land beyond, Artie watched his reflection drain its whiskey glass and set it firmly down on the desk.

He adjusted his spectacles and went back writing his report. When this assignment was done, maybe he’d request a more civilized posting. San Francisco, New Orleans, maybe even Chicago. As far as Artie was concerned, the wide open spaces of the west were just too big for a man alone.

*****

  
It was after midnight when the parlor door slammed open. Jim West headed straight for the sideboard. He tossed the crumpled telegram from his hand and grabbed the whiskey decanter. Pouring himself a triple shot, he downed half of it immediately. Jim flung himself across the room and finally came to rest on the sofa, legs stretched in front of him and head tipped against the back. He sucked in a deep breath and let it out in a noisy sigh, then sat staring at the ceiling as if it could untangle the morass of thought tumbling through his mind.

Colonel Richmond wanted to meet him in Denver. That meant one of three things: a thorough debriefing on his latest missions — covering the things that were not in his reports, a dressing down, or another attempt to partner him. The way his luck had been going, probably all three.

Jim thought that he’d kept enough out of the last two mission reports to keep suspicion at bay. But the local law he’d dealt with could have contacted his superiors, or maybe the colonel just knew him too well. And Jim had never been as good at Artie at reporting only the parts of a mission that needed to be shared…

Jim shut that off quickly, as he had learned to do whenever he found himself drifting to thoughts of his former partner.

In a face-to-face meeting with Colonel Richmond, Jim would have no choice but to go into all the details. Letting his superior learn that he had been injured during his latest mission would certainly win him that dressing down. And it would add one more weapon to the arsenal that Richmond continuously used against him to convince him to accept another partner.

Of course, he might be able to redirect the colonel straight to the reprimand. After all, he had managed to get his informant killed during the last mission, effectively stopping the Service’s ability to track and catch the gang of thieves who were stealing from the U.S. Army and selling to whoever was willing to pay the price. Keeping Richmond focused on what was already in the report might just let Jim avoid even less pleasant topics. Again Jim found himself regretting his own lack of expertise at conversational gymnastics, and remembering how astute his former partner was at steering talk exactly where he wanted it to go.

Disgusted at his inability to control his thoughts, Jim swallowed the rest of his drink and moved across the room to pour himself another triple. He held the full glass up and watched the lamp light shine through the amber liquid. It was late, and he was tired. He’d already informed the crew of the plans for Denver, and they’d be taking the train east in the morning. Jim had secured his horse safely for travel, and there was nothing stopping him from sleeping as late as he could. There certainly wasn’t much else to do while en route anymore.

Jim quickly swallowed the second drink down, and poured a third. Maybe it would work tonight. Maybe he could drink himself to sleep before the memories swamped him.

Jim carried his glass with him to his bedroom. He quickly stripped down to his drawers and sat on the narrow bed. He drank the last glass, then lay down and closed his eyes, feeling his exhaustion rise to meet the alcohol fog. Reaching for the oblivion that they would grant when they met.

But it was not to be. Not tonight. That was the drawback in his tactics. They were fine when they worked, but if Jim couldn’t drink fast enough, or he wasn’t quite tired enough, he didn’t get to sleep. And by then the whiskey made it impossible to hold back the memories and images that were only just kept at bay during the day. At night, in the dark, alone in his bed, everything he had lost when he’d raped his partner roared over him like a flash flood in a canyon, sweeping him away, anchorless, into a past he could never recover.

Images of his absent partner. The quick smile and easy laugh. How Artie used to call him “James, my boy.” The strong, gentle hands; freeing Jim from chains and ropes and prisons, supporting Jim after fights and a few too many, washing, bandaging, even stitching Jim’s injuries. Gifts of strange and wonderful inventions that never failed to save Jim’s sorry hide. Long periods of inactivity while traveling from mission to mission filled with chess and cards, conversation, and quiet companionship. A melancholy yearning, too late recognized, as he watched his partner and friend charm young ladies into his arms and bed.

And, as always, no matter how Jim tried to block them, the other memories. Images of the bowed head and broad back, pale and naked beneath Jim’s sweating chest. His teeth clamped hard on the exposed nape. The bound hands grasping, the hips in the air. The feel of his own cock buried deep, thrusting, as his partner groaned and writhed below him.

The first remembered moan brought Jim to full hardness.

The first few times the memories had come, Jim had refused to touch himself. He’d lain aching in the dark, trying without success to block out the images of his shame. Then, he’d fought with his baser urges all night, to greet the morning still hard, still awake, still remembering. A week of nights like that, and he’d finally given in. A few rough strokes and he’d spent, the physical release and exhaustion winning over the self-disgust to grant him sleep at last.

After that, Jim just got it over with as quickly as possible. There was no comfort here, no pleasure or tenderness. Jim knew he deserved none of those. As always, he set a punishing rhythm, stripping his cock harshly, stroking hard to reach release. In this his memories served him; Jim clearly felt the heat of his partner’s most intimate passage squeezing hard around him, he felt the hips and ass beneath him flexing as Artie struggled to escape the violation Jim had forced on him — had he really interpreted that as passion? — He tasted the blood and heard the moans of pain and humiliation — how could he have thought that Artie would want him like that? — These memories, to Jim’s deepest shame and disgust, brought him to the brink.

And as always, when he climaxed, he whispered, “Artie. Please…”

Jim never thought about what he meant. He never wondered what he pled for. He just let sleep take him, and he never remembered his dreams.

*****

The Wanderer was taking on water about eight hours west of Ogden when the telegraph setup in the desk started clattering. Jim pulled it to him and set to work copying. After he’d acknowledged receipt, Jim got out the code book.

_Denver meet delayed. Operation currently in progress in Montana coming to a head. Meet the agent Virginia City. More details Federal office Ogden._

Jim could handle a delay in whatever Colonel Richmond had for him. He telegraphed his understanding of his new instructions, then went up to the engine to inform the crew of the change of plans.

*****

  
As he flipped through the information he’d picked up in Ogden, Jim couldn’t decide if the agent who had written the reports was brilliant or a damned madman. Here was someone who took more chances than he did. In the past few months, this man had uncovered a plot to defraud the government of thousands of acres of land, all under the guise of the Homestead Act of 1862.

Three cattle barons, the wealthiest men in the area, had banded together, staking multiple claims under false names and running off legitimate homesteaders. Apparently the gold in the area, thought gone by the end of the War, wasn’t all mined out, and these men, already rich, were using the Homestead Act to claim as much land as they could in the chance of getting even richer.

This agent, as schoolmaster, had wormed his way into the good graces of the worst of the lawbreakers, and apparently done some work for him drafting maps and copying out documents. And every paper he dealt with for the rancher was also copied and sent with his reports to the office.

Jim shook his head. If the agent’s actions were discovered, the conspirators would surely kill him. His body would be left for the coyotes, and no-one would ever find his remains.

But the man had done his job, and provided the evidence to prove wrongdoing. It was time round up the powerful ranchers and bring them in. James West had the federal warrants and a contingent of agents with which to complete the assignment. He was also supposed to offer the schoolmaster/agent transportation aboard the Wanderer to Denver, so that he could report to Colonel Richmond in person.

*****

  
It was early morning when the Wanderer rolled into Virginia City. Jim instructed the rest of the men to wait for him on the train until he could find the undercover agent and get him safely away. Jim knew if the schoolmaster was around when he and his men went in to arrest the lawbreakers, he was likely to be a target of last minute revenge. Any agent bold enough to get a job with the men he was investigating deserved to live long enough to collect his pay.

Since he was looking for the schoolmaster, Jim’s first stop was the school. It had been a long time since he’d seen a one-room schoolhouse, but they never seemed to change. Weathered clapboard siding, slate blackboard, rows of splintery wooden benches. Teacher’s desk up front. This one was no different. It was also empty.

James stepped onto the wooden stoop and squinted down the street. Of course it wasn’t going to be that easy. He’d have to track the agent down some other way.

It wasn’t a busy town, but there already were a few people moving around. Jim made his way along the boardwalk until he encountered a wagonwright’s shop. The only person in the yard was a Negro workman, standing at a trough, soaking and bending wood. Jim figured that everyone in town would know the schoolmaster, so he approached the man.

“Good morning. I’m looking for a friend of mine. He’s the schoolmaster here. Perhaps you know where I can find him?” Jim stuck his hand in his pocket and jingled the coins there.

“Huh. Might be he at the schoolhouse.” The man said, not looking up, but giving the impression that he didn’t think much of James’ mental acuity.

“No-one there.” Jim pulled his hand from his pocket and started shaking together the coins he’d removed so that they rattled in his hand. “Maybe you could tell me where he lives?”

“Not much of a frien’, don’ know where a man livin’.” But the workman was at least looking at Jim now.

  
“We’ve lost touch.” Jim opened his hand and showed the man the silver coins.

“Mist’ Barnard got a room at Miz Pritchart’s house. Brown house wit’ yeller trim ‘bout ten house up on d’ lef’.” The man held his hand out, and Jim poured the coins into it.

Jim remembered to say “Thank you” as he turned and walked back up the street.

The information was accurate, and there on the left was obviously a boarding house. The _Rooms_ sign in the parlor window just confirmed the overall impression. Jim climbed the steps to the front door and knocked. When a graying woman in a not-particularly-clean apron opened the door, he removed his hat.

“Good morning, ma’am.”

“We’re full,” she replied.

“Actually, I’m looking for a friend. He’s the schoolmaster. A Mr. Barnard?”

“Hmph. If you’re anything like the friends he left with last night, you’re not welcome here. Shouting and carousing and breaking things. This is a respectable house!” The woman’s sour expression made clear what she thought of the schoolmaster’s visitors. “And when he left, he could barely walk. Drunk, no doubt. And him a teacher, too. It’s a disgrace!”

James didn’t allow the alarm this report caused to show in his face. “I’m sure it was, ma’am. I will be sure and talk to my friend when I see him. He should know better. Do you perhaps know where he went?”

The landlady drew herself up, offended. “I don’t pry into my tenants’ business.”

“Of course not,” Jim soothed. “I just thought I could remove him from the bad influences he’s fallen in with. He’s always been a steady man, but a little unwise when choosing his companions. I’m afraid he has a weakness for whiskey.” Jim was trying to coax the woman to give in to her church-goer’s temptation to both disapprove and save at the same time. He was pretty sure that it wasn’t drunken hijinks in the man’s room last night, but an attack and abduction. If he didn’t find the man soon, there might well be nothing to find.

The woman seemed mollified and, as if she’d made some decision, began flooding him with information. “I recognized a couple of the men he left with. Rob Baker and Peter Fitch. They’re hands at the Rocking Star ranch, Big Mike Elliot’s spread. They probably went to the Bale of Hay. It’s where all the hands from the big ranches drink.” Her face was a study in opprobrium and prurient interest. Then she flushed, as if she’d realized what she’d said. “Not that I know anything about that, you understand. I just know what people say…”

James smiled charmingly at the landlady to show he knew she wasn’t familiar with the town’s drinking establishments. Making appropriately grateful noises, he left as quickly as courtesy allowed. Jim recognized that name. Elliot was on more than one of the warrants in his pocket. If the agent had been taken to Elliot’s ranch, there would be no finding him. But there was still a chance if they were at the saloon.

It was early and the saloon was almost deserted, so Jim couldn’t hide in the crowd. The lack of traffic did make it easier to watch a group of men ride up, dismount, and head for the cellar. The way most of the men deferred to one, it was pretty clear that he was the boss.

There was no guard posted, no furtiveness, no indication at all that these men thought they were doing anything wrong. Jim used this hubris to his advantage, creeping slowly down the earthen stairs to where he could see the surprisingly large and well-lit cellar. The large room had storage shelves and whiskey barrels neatly arrayed. James could, and did, use them as cover as he inched around the room to watch the action in the middle of a cleared space.

At first, the group of men gathered in a circle obscured what was obviously everyone’s focus. Then the boss man Jim had noticed earlier stepped forward, the men shifted back and Jim’s view became much clearer than he could ever wish.

James West froze as adrenaline flooded his body, clenching his gut in knots and making his heart pound so hard he thought the whole room would hear it. He knew that bowed head, its thick dark hair disarrayed and dirtied. He knew that vulnerable white nape above those broad shoulders. Didn’t he see them every night when he closed his eyes? How could he have not known, not guessed, that the agent tied to a chair before him was his dearest friend and most shameful nightmare, Artemus Gordon?

As Jim watched, the head man backhanded Artemus hard across the face.

“Wake up, Teacher. Class is in session.”

The blow snapped Jim’s paralysis as surely as it woke Artie from his fitful doze. Restraining himself from rushing in, James watched to get the lay of the situation.

“Today’s lesson, Barnard, is how much of our plans do you know, and who have you told. Start talking.”

“Now, Mike, there must be some mistake…” Artie’s voice was the same. He still tried his actor’s skills to manipulate any situation he might find himself in.

Another backhand across the face showed Jim that Artie wasn’t going to win this one. But if they wanted information, then he could probably count on Artemus stalling them on principle. This would give James time to get back to the train, set the arrest plans in motion, and bring back men to help rescue Artie. Jim was not about to go in alone this time. Not only were the odds ten to one against, but he could tell that Mike Elliot would shoot his prisoner out of spite if it seemed like things were going against him. Risking his own life was one thing. Risking Artie’s? Jim was no longer willing to do that.

Loathe to leave, but knowing no other option, Jim made his way swiftly and silently back to the stairs and out of the cellar. Grabbing one of the horses tied behind the saloon, he mounted and walked it to a safe distance, then kicked it to a canter, heading as fast as he dared through the town’s morning activities to the train yard and the Wanderer.

The men at the train had spent their morning getting ready for the arrests: studying maps, splitting into groups, getting the horses ready. Grateful for their efficiency, Jim took control of the group bound for Elliot’s ranch, sent the others to their destinations, and led his team back to the saloon. The dispatch took no more than half an hour, and as Jim had hoped, nothing had changed in the yard behind the building; the horses still swatted flies in the growing warmth of the day and the sloping door to the cellar was still unguarded. Jim had already given the men a description of what they’d find, so they went in quietly, got into place, and at Jim’s signal, launched themselves at the surprised crew, who were still standing back watching their boss interrogate the man they knew as the schoolteacher.

James concerned himself with Artemus. Even as he gave the sign, he was moving forward to grab the chair Artie was tied to. It took all his strength, but he dragged the chair, Artemus and all, to the shelter of a stack of barrels. Only when they were hidden did Jim take out his knife and start sawing at the ropes binding Artie.

The agents Jim had brought were all good men, and before long they had the men in the cellar under arrest without a shot being fired. Jim suspected he’d been right about Elliot, though. The rancher was looking around for something specific when he was disarmed by one of the arresting agents, and when Jim led a stumbling Artie from their hiding place the murderous look Big Mike sent their way made Jim glad he’d been cautious about Artie’s safety instead of brashly trying to corral the entire nest of vipers on his own.

James continued to support Artie as they made their way from the cellar up to the sunlit yard behind the saloon. When they reached the yard, Artie shook him off and, taking a few steps to separate himself from Jim, turned and addressed him for the first time that morning. “Thank you, James. I’m much obliged to you for your kind assistance. I hadn’t realized that the Seventh Cavalry was stopping by the area this week.”

“Colonel Richmond sent us. I guess you’d finally sent enough incriminating material for Federal warrants. There’s probably a telegram waiting for you at the Western Union office letting you know we’re coming.”

“I suppose I’d better stop and check then, before I contact the colonel for my next assignment.”

Jim wasn’t going to let Artie go until he was sure his former partner was really all right. The superficial politeness of their conversation wasn’t the least bit reassuring. He knew he didn’t have any pull with Artemus anymore, but he played the cards he had, hoping that Artie would acquiesce, if only for old times’ sake.

“Come back to the train with me. You can use the telegraph setup there. At least let me take care of those scrapes.” Jim gestured at Artie’s wrists.

Artie hesitated. He was trying to avoid a real conversation with James, and he knew James knew it. He didn’t think he had the strength to endure a scene. Less so did he have the strength to deny the pleading look that James probably didn’t even know was on his face. “All right, James, all right,” and softer, almost too soft to hear, “I’ll let you play nursemaid if you must.”

They passed the short ride to the train in silence. Artie noticed that the Wanderer looked the same as when he’d left, both inside and out. Not so Jim. Seeing him in the sunlit parlor, Artie saw that the lines around his eyes, once faint, now ran deeper. They used to show when Jim smiled, but these new lines spoke of pain as much as hard living.

*****

The first place Jim went was to the sideboard, where he poured himself a generous tumbler of whiskey. He swallowed it down like water, and poured himself a second the same size. He poured a drink for Artie as well, and leaving his own on the tray, carried Artie’s to him.

“Drink up. You’ve earned it,” Jim said over his shoulder as he fetched the medical kit from its cupboard. “Let’s take a look at your wrists.”

Artie stripped off his jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves, exposing the ligature marks where his wrists had been bound to the chair. The wounds told the story of his struggles to free himself. They were deep and bloody in places, and there were slivers of jute embedded in his skin.

Artemus clenched his teeth against the pain as Jim bathed his arms with warm water, cleaning off the blood and dirt. When Jim went after the rope bits with tweezers, Artie couldn’t help hissing. To distract himself, he silently repeated the St. Crispin’s Day speech from Shakespeare’s _Henry V_. He’d gone through it two and a half times by the time James pronounced him sliver-free and started winding clean gauze around his wrists.

Now that the pain had ebbed, Artemus had time to realize that Jim was awfully quiet. When they’d taken care of each other’s minor injuries in the past, it had been accompanied by breezy conversation. A little celebration of survival. They’d been happy just to be alive and in each other’s company, and it showed.

Now, however, Artie supposed that there wasn’t really much to talk about anymore. Now that Jim was done, Artemus would take his leave. After he collected his meager belongings from the boarding house, he could probably travel with the cleanup crew that took the arrested ranchers into Ogden, then make his way by commercial rail to Denver.

Lost again in his own thoughts, Artie gave a startled jerk when the whiskey glass was pressed into his hand.

“I should have known,” Jim started.

“Sorry?”

“When I was reading the reports. I should have figured that it was you. Oh, I know you disguise your writing when you disguise yourself, but the reports had your voice.”

“I’ll have to work on that,” Artemus said dryly.

“While you’re at it, work on your undercover tactics.” Jim couldn’t help the waspishness.

“I beg your pardon?” Artie’s voice took on a chill in response.

“Deciding to get chummy with the suspect. It was only a matter of time before you were found out! Before you left you were giving me hell about the way I was working. How do you figure what you did here was any different?”

“It was my assignment, James.”

“It was sheer stupidity, Artemus! That wasn’t reconnaissance, that was spying. And spies get killed!”

“Last I checked I was an independent agent. I was sent in to gather intelligence on a land-grab scheme, and that’s exactly what I did. My methods will bring the criminals to trial.” Artie’s tone was downright icy.

Jim was shouting now. “Your methods got you this close to being coyote meat!”

“When you are my commanding officer, James West, you can tell me how to do my job. Until then, you have no say at all.”

Jim knew Artie was right. He had no say. But the fury he felt had to go somewhere. James spun away from Artie and slammed his fist against the parlor wall. He drew back his arm and did it again, harder. The third time he cocked his arm, Artie jumped out of his chair and grabbed his bicep, preventing the blow. Jim yanked against the hold, but Artie didn’t release him. When Jim twisted his shoulders to break free, Artie wrapped him in a bear hug from behind. The restraint enraged Jim, and he struggled in earnest to get loose. Artie held on tighter and dragged his former partner into the middle of the room.

“Let go of me, you goddamned son of a bitch!” Jim put everything he had into breaking free, cussing and breathing like a steam engine. Weakened as he was by his capture and incarceration, Artie couldn’t hold his thrashing partner for long.

Artie stepped away from Jim, his hands raised placatingly. When Jim pulled his arm back as if to swing at Artie, Artie raised his hands further, covering his face to ward off the blow. For an instant, the two men froze in tableau.

Jim’s eyes went wide, and he dropped his arm. He was still breathing heavily, and expressions chased across his face: anger, horror, confusion, desperation. Before Artie could respond to any of them, Jim sprang at him, swept his hands downward, and wrapped both arms around Artie, trapping his arms at his sides and pulling him in painfully tight. Then one arm slid up his back, ending up across his shoulders with the hand buried in his thick dark hair.

“Artie. Oh, God. Artie!” The words brushed his lips an instant before Jim’s mouth was on his.

Artemus Gordon was no stranger to kissing. He’d shared embraces with countless women, some of whom had excited him to near fever pitch with their passion. But this kiss was beyond anything he’d ever experienced.

Jim’s mouth was hot and demanding on his, pushing at Artie with boundless hunger. Jim’s large hand held Artie’s head in place as his lips and teeth did their conquering best to force Artie’s mouth open. In Artemus’ bemused state, it didn’t take him long to acquiesce.

Jim’s tongue was as irresistible as his lips. It tangled with Artie’s, sweeping along his teeth and gums. Exploring Artie’s mouth and claiming Artie’s breath. And whenever Artemus thought that he would have to break the kiss or smother, Jim would pull back to lay soft kisses along his lips and nip at his mouth, then dive deeply back into Artemus’ mouth and soul.

Artemus had no idea how long they kissed. It was when Jim left Artie’s mouth and moved to his neck, alternately biting and kissing the vulnerable skin along the tendons; when Jim’s hands began moving spasmodically along Artie’s back, arms and sides, clutching at his shirt like a drowning man; when Jim’s hips began to rock, rubbing his hard length against Artie’s thigh, that Artie came out of his haze. Finding his arms free, Artie pushed firmly at his friend’s chest. They needed to step back and asses this before taking it further. They needed to make explicit what was happening. They had both suffered too much from the misunderstanding that led to their separation. He wasn’t going to let desperation and silence cause more pain.

“Jim. Jim. James! Stop. You have to stop!”

Finally becoming aware of his partner’s voice, Jim backed away from Artie one step. Two. Three. His hand came up as if to ward off the other man. His face was flushed and his breath came in gasps.

Artemus fancied he could see the passion drain from Jim’s eyes, to be replaced by horror and self-disgust.

“You see? I’m doing it again! How can you trust me? How can you let me near you? You see what kind of man I am! Man? Not a man. An animal! A wild beast!” He turned away from Artie, tension in every line of his back. Jim’s voice settled to a chilling calm. “I think you’d better put me down, Artie.”

At that, Artie felt his own anger blaze, but he leashed it, hard. Fighting with his partner wasn’t going to convince him of anything. To solve this problem, Artie would have to outthink Jim. If he’d dared, he’d have smiled. Not that Jim was stupid. Anything but. It was just that Artie had a lot more experience with subterfuge and manipulation. And Artie wasn’t proud. He’d use every means at his disposal to keep James West alive and sane.

“You know I won’t do that, James.”

“Then I’ll make sure I never see you again. We can’t work together anymore, not even temporarily. Not when I can’t be trusted around you.”

“As long as we’re both Secret Service, we have no say in the matter. We go where we’re sent. So it seems we work this through, because if we don’t you know as well as I that it won’t take you long to get careless and get yourself killed. I will not, by action or inaction, be responsible for your death.” Artie was quiet, but firm.

Jim’s momentary calm dissipated, and he began to pace the parlor. “What about _my_ actions, Artie? Huh? Are you going to spend every minute we’re together on guard in case I attack you again? How are you going to sleep or eat or… or… _anything_ with the constant threat of… of…” Jim’s voice trailed off, and he snatched his forgotten drink off the sideboard so violently that a third of it spilled over his hand. He downed the remainder in one convulsive swallow.

Artie walked over to him and removed the glass softly from his hand, setting it back down, then turning Jim to face him with a gentle pressure on his forearm. “Of what, James? Of rape?”

Jim winced and looked away at the harsh word. He nodded once, sharply.

“That’s not what happened, Jim. I explained it before. You weren’t yourself and you weren’t responsible.”

“And I’m trying to tell you that I _was_ responsible! I wanted you, Artie. I needed you, and I took you. If there had been anyone else with me, I don’t know what would have happened. Maybe I would have beaten them to death with my bare hands. But you… you…” Jim trailed off. If he were going to convince his partner to leave for his own safety, now was the time he’d have to confess his deepest, most secret shame. Jim told himself that the humiliation was nothing compared to what he’d gain by protecting his dearest friend. He had to make Artie see_why_ he had to leave.

Jim didn’t think he could do this with his friend’s hand on him. He walked away from Artie’s comforting touch to stare out the parlor window.

“You need to know, Artie…” Jim paused. It was one thing to know in your heart that you’re a monster, but quite another to announce it to the person whose respect means the most.

“James?”

“Artemus, you need to know that what I wanted from you back in that cave… I… I still want it. I still want you. That way.”

“Kinda figured that, James, from the way you just kissed me.” Artemus’ wryly amused response was not at all what Jim expected.

“Artie, this is not a joke!” Jim swung around and stared at his partner. “Every night I see you, feel you, need you… Please. Don’t make me spell it out.” Jim’s choked voice revealed his distress clearly.

Artemus approached his friend slowly, trying to be as unthreatening as possible, but needing to be close to convey what he needed to communicate. Every step Artie took, Jim retreated from him. Soon, James had nowhere left to go. Artemus had backed him against the wall of the train car.

Still moving slowly, Artie placed a hand on his friend’s forearm and gently smoothed it upwards to rest on his shoulder. Jim tensed beneath his hand, eyes wide, nostrils flaring, looking for all the world like a cornered animal about to bolt.

“Jim, shhh. My James, my dear boy.” Artemus spoke soothingly, seeking to calm his skittish partner. “It’s all right. I want you as well. What you want? I want it too.”

“That’s not possible.” Jim’s response was swift and flat. “You can’t possibly want me to hurt you like that!”

“No, of course I don’t want you to hurt me. But we both know there are other ways, gentler ways. I know you, Jim. You never hurt one of your women in your life. You only hurt me because you were drugged; you didn’t know what you were doing. You acted like a rutting animal because you’d been forced into _being_ a rutting animal. If we make love with both of us willing, there is no way you would hurt me.”

“Make love?” Jim repeated the phrase. He’d never considered what he wanted in that light.

“Make love, James. You always make love with your women. I’m talking about making love with me.”

“You’re not a woman, Artie.”

“I’d noticed.” The dryly amused tone was back.

“No, I mean…”

“I know what you mean, my boy,” Artie interrupted, “but that’s really to our advantage.” Artemus raised his hand and stroked Jim’s cheek in rhythm with his voice. “No convincing, no seducing, just two people who know each other very well, are comfortable with each other, care for each other, and want the same thing.”

Jim’s eyes drifted closed at the touch. “Artie…” The name was a sigh. “Please, Artie…”

“What is it, James?” Artemus murmured, continuing the hypnotic stroking, enjoying the feel of his dear friend’s smooth cheek against his palm.

“Help me do this right. I want you so badly. I need you so much. I don’t want to hurt you, but I don’t know if I can hold back.”

“Shhh. It will be all right. Trust me.”

“Always.”

“Trust yourself.”

Jim stiffened as his eyes snapped open. “How can I?”

“No, relax, dear boy. Shhh.” Artie resumed his rhythmic touch, his hand moving to stroke Jim’s hair, offering comfort and concern.

Jim let his eyes close again. It had been so long since he’d been touched like this. Surely he could let himself accept the tenderness his friend offered. With a soft exhalation, he let his head fall forward onto Artie’s broad shoulder.

“Yes, that’s it.” Artemus gathered his partner closer, pressing them together thigh to chest. Artie’s stroking hand slid over Jim’s smooth hair down his neck, over and over. Jim let himself bring his own arms up, settling them around his friend’s waist. Tucking his nose where Artie’s shoulder and neck met, he breathed deep the scent of cotton, hair tonic, and sweat, reveling in the living warmth of the man who would always be his partner, no matter how long they were apart.

As Jim relaxed into Artie’s embrace, he could feel himself harden, responding to the nearness of the man he’d craved for so long. Close as they were, Jim knew that his partner could feel his reaction, too. But Artie didn’t seem disgusted or distressed. Artie didn’t move away. He just held Jim, soothed him, continued to murmur words of comfort in his rich baritone.

Lulled by Artie’s warmth and nearness, at peace with himself for the first time in months, James found himself drifting. Without his realizing it, Jim’s hips began to rock, bringing his burgeoning erection into closer contact with Artie’s firm thigh.

This was what Artemus had been waiting for: an opportunity to show his friend that things between them didn’t need to be violent or hateful. He knew that James was still suffering from the knowledge that he’d hurt his best friend. No, Gordon, call it what it is. Jim had raped him while under the influence of Miguelito Loveless’ nefarious serum.

Based on that as their first contact, Artie was not surprised to find that Jim was mortified by the hunger still raging in his blood. Jim had obviously lost confidence in his own ability to tell right from wrong, especially where Artemus was concerned. Now it was time to set that right. Jim’s desire might have remained hidden without Loveless’ serum, but now it was revealed. Artemus had to show Jim his own want, the one he’d hidden for so long, or there was no hope of getting back any part of the special bond they’d previously shared.

Artie knew he had only this one chance to replace the cruel sham of physical love that Loveless had wrought with the true connection that he’d always known was possible between himself and James. If they failed to kindle real and lasting love, Jim would banish Artie from his life forever, and they’d both lose everything — working partner and friend from before, and the chance at lifelong companionship and happiness. Even worse, Jim West would walk away convinced he was a monster. The self-hatred would tear him apart and cause him to self-destruct, either at the end of some criminal’s gun or at the bottom of a bottle.

The hand stroking Jim’s hair moved down to caress his shoulders and back, encouraging the rhythmic motion of Jim’s pelvis, adding stimulation, causing his partner to rock even harder. Artie could feel Jim’s cock grow and harden. He imagined he could feel the heat even through the cloth of their trousers. He paid no mind to his own body’s awakening response to the beautiful young man held in his arms.

James suddenly lifted his head and stared into his partner’s eyes, startled by how aroused he’d become almost without noticing.

“Don’t stop. It’s all right. I’ve got you. Let go. Let go, James.”

And as if Artie’s permission was all he’d been waiting for, Jim convulsed in pleasure. His cock pulsed his release and his arms were bands of iron as he pulled his partner impossibly closer, desperate for as much contact as he could get. The tendons in his neck stood out starkly as he threw his head back and cried out his climax.

“Artie! Artie. Ahhhhh… Artie!”

When the last drop had been wrung from his body, Jim dropped his head back down to Artemus’ shoulder, sucking in great sobbing breaths. His arms were still tight around his partner, and his face turned into Artie’s neck, as if to hide. Artemus let him, stroking his hair as he calmed.

When Jim’s breathing quieted, though, Artemus had to see his face. Still keeping one arm around Jim’s waist, Artie lifted Jim’s chin so that they were again looking at each other eye to eye.

What Artemus saw when he looked in his partner’s eyes! He’d tried to bring his friend pleasure, to teach him that they could touch each other gently and tenderly. But at this moment Artie feared that he’d failed utterly. Jim’s haunted expression hurt Artie to see.

“Why did you let me do that, Artie? Do you think it makes it better knowing you’re _letting_ me use you?”

When Artemus heard the despair in his partner’s voice he sighed. “Ah, James. My boy, my dear boy.” And using his hand to gently tilt Jim’s head, he bent his own and kissed his partner.

If Jim’s kiss earlier was desperation and need, Artie’s kiss now was reassurance and love. Artemus tried to put all the tenderness, caring, and trust he felt for his young partner into the embrace. Artie sprinkled small kisses over Jim’s brow and eyelids and nipped gently at his lips, returning to his mouth for a last kiss before pulling back.

“I’m not _letting_ you do anything, Jim.” Artemus kept his voice low and calm. “Trust me when I say that in this I’m motivated by quite a lot of self-interest.”

“Relieving the pressure so that I don’t knock you down and rape you again seems like self-interest to me,” was Jim’s bitter reply.

“Enough, James!” Artemus’ temper finally snapped, and he shoved Jim roughly away. “No more of this. Will you listen to yourself?!”

Jim’s confusion showed on his face.

“Just listen to yourself!” Artemus repeated. “The great James West suddenly discovers that he’s not perfect, and the whole world has to stop.” Artie shook his head in disgust, and went on in a quieter voice, “I used to think you were a smart man.”

Jim opened his mouth, but Artie cut him off with a sharp gesture.

“We’ve gone over it. In word and deed. I’ve said and done everything I can, more than once, to get you to see that as far as I’m concerned, what happened, happened, and is _done_. It doesn’t have to matter between us. Not unless you want it to.” Artemus faced his partner, glaring angrily, arms crossed. “Let me say it plainly. You push me away now, and you’re not going to last. Calm down, I’m not threatening you, I just see what’s happened to you since I left. You send me away, it’ll be because you can’t forgive yourself, you keep on hating yourself. In this line of work, you hate yourself and eventually you die. I’m betting for you it’ll be sooner rather than later. Is that how you want it, James? You want to die? Because if it is, if it really is, I can’t stop you.”

“No, you can’t. And maybe it would be best if you just left me to it!”

Artie was glad to hear the tone of Jim’s spirited response, even though the words were worrisome.

“If what happened with Loveless’ serum was the only problem, then yeah, I could live with that. But I’ve been trying to tell you, and I think I just showed you, that I still want you.”

“I heard that. I saw that. And — listen closely to this part, James — _I want that_.”

“No, Artie, you don’t,” Jim responded flatly. “I want to be inside you, and that would hurt you again. I know that, and I still want you. A lot. And if you’re around, eventually, I’ll have you. _That’s_ the part… the part…” Jim deflated as his previous despair returned and overwhelmed his brief anger.

In the face of Jim’s deep distress, Artie could not maintain his own indignation. “Ah, James, my boy, _that’s_ the part you have to be open-minded about. _That’s_ where you’re mistaken. Let’s try thinking about it another way, shall we? You can’t possibly be that naive. Men have been doing this for centuries. For pleasure.”

“I can see how…”

“Both participants, James.”

“Oh…” A slight pause and Jim’s head came up. He pinned Artie with narrowed eyes, surprising himself with the sudden twist of jealousy at the thought of Artemus with another man. “Have you…?”

“No, but I’ve been around enough to hear a thing or two.”

“Oh.”

Artie returned the conversation to its previous topic. “Look, Jim. You tell me now if you want to go on the way you’ve been. If you do, I’ll go, and I’ll stay away.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then you let me show you how to make it good between us.”

“Why that? Why not go back to the way we were?”

“Could you? I’m not so sure you’d be able to.” Artie suddenly had a wild gleam in his eye that Jim had never seen before. “For that matter, I’m not so sure I’d be able to. Besides, it seems to me as if I’m behind in the game. You do plan to give me a chance to even things up, don’t you, James?” Artie’s always-rich voice took on a sensuous purr that sent sudden heat curling through Jim’s body.  
Accompanying the heat was a tingle of apprehension. Jim wasn’t sure he could let Artemus take him the way he’d taken his partner.

“I won’t do anything you don’t want,” Artie reassured Jim, as if reading his mind. “In fact,” he continued, the dark tones coloring his voice again, “I guarantee that anything I do to you, you will want very, very much.”

Jim couldn’t repress a shiver of reaction to the heated promise in his friend’s voice. But he’d never been a coward, not with his body, so with a deep breath he looked Artemus straight in the eye and answered, “All right.”

Artie held Jim’s gaze. The moment stretched, and still their eyes stayed locked on each other. Jim felt the heat from earlier rise again in response to the intimacy of their look. His breath quickened and he could feel his heart start pounding in his chest.

It was plain Artemus could sense Jim’s excitement. He moved slowly across the parlor towards his partner, his eyes still locked on Jim’s. James could see an answering heat staining Artie’s cheeks, and his dark eyes were dilated so as to be almost black.

James hadn’t truly believed until now that his partner shared his passion. With this realization came instant arousal. He hardened so fast he felt lightheaded, and when Artemus extended a hand, Jim moved towards him as if drugged.

“James,” Artie breathed, and their hands touched lightly for just an instant, then with a grip so solid and strong Jim could feel the rich current of desire flowing between them.

They stood, palm-to-palm, fingers interlaced, letting the moment build. Jim because he’d unconsciously ceded control to his partner, Artemus to savor the connection and imprint on his memory this instant when he first met his partner on the field of love, not some twisted need brought on by a madman’s tampering.

Then, surely as if he’d done it a thousand times, Artie pulled Jim close, embraced him. And brought their lips together in a searing kiss that went right to Jim’s cock.

James had always admired his partner’s ability to concentrate under fire. Now he had to fight momentary panic as he experienced that heated focus firsthand. Jim conjured the passion he’d felt when he was in control of their kisses, and suddenly it really was all right. All the trust he had in his partner, the warmth and the ease washed through him and he let himself go into the strong, capable, gentle hands of Artemus Gordon.

And oh, those hands! Those lips! That tongue! Jim opened himself up to experiencing fully what his partner offered. For the first time ever, he let himself be made love to. He lost himself in the feelings as Artie slipped his tongue between Jim’s lips and explored his mouth, as Artie’s hands unfastened his shirt, as Artie’s teeth and lips worked along his jaw and over his throat to nip at the sensitive skin under his ears and along his bared shoulders and collarbones.

Floating on sensation, Jim barely noticed when Artie slipped both their shirts off. He only knew that suddenly he burned hotter at the press of his friend’s naked chest to his own, at the feel of the large hands roaming possessively over his bare back, spreading heat along the long muscles that flanked his spine, claiming his ass, pulling them tight, groin to groin, cocks straining against each other through trousers and undergarments.

Jim sucked in a sharp breath at the contact. In his encounters with women, even at their most heated, he’d never ignited this quickly. Even after his earlier climax, he was already so close.  
Jim let Artemus move them through the parlor, down the short hall, and into the bunkroom. He willingly let himself be guided to sit. When Artie cupped the back of his head, tilted it, and started to bite his bared neck, Jim found himself stretching further to expose more of the sensitive tendon.

Artie’s hands roamed over James’ bare torso. Jim couldn’t suppress a moan when his partner’s hot fingers brushed, then tweaked his nipples. Artie must have taken this as encouragement, because soon he was stroking, pinching, and gently twisting Jim’s paps. If Jim had been paying attention to his responses, he might not have arched into Artie’s touch so wantonly, nor begun moaning so unceasingly. But it seemed to Jim as if he’d become a slave to his senses, and he couldn’t be bothered to waste energy on things that distracted him from experiencing what was being done to his hungry body.

Immersed in sensation, Jim went with it when Artie pressed gently on his chest, guiding him to lie flat on the bed. Then, Artemus used his mouth to follow the path of his hands, working down Jim’s neck; biting, licking, sucking. Soon, he reached Jim’s nipples. If Jim thought Artie’s fingers were talented, it was only his ignorance talking. He could hardly believe how wonderful, how arousing it was to have Artie lick, nip, and suck at the erect nubs.

It was so exciting that Jim had to move. He shook off the passive languor he'd been wallowing in, and grabbed at Artie, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and burying his other hand in Artie’s thick hair, pressing his head into Jim’s chest, trying to get even more from his partner.  
This caused Artie, who had been leaning over Jim, to lose his balance. Only quick reflexes kept him from falling full length on top of his partner.

Bracing himself above Jim with one hand, he used his other to pry James’ hand away from his head. When he could straighten up, he did, grasping Jim’s arms by the wrist and moving them up to rest beside his head on the bed. Artie pressed down briefly and said, “Let me run this show, James.”

Jim nodded, wide-eyed, missing the press of their bodies already. He felt his own fingers curl with the desire to draw Artie back down, but manfully resisted the urge to reach, grasp, pull until he was covered once more. He knew his partner was watching him closely, and if he wanted more, he’d have to do this Artie’s way.

Jim knew he’d satisfied Artie when his partner released his wrists and resumed where he’d left off. This time when Artemus started mouthing his chest and nipples, James accepted the attention gratefully, letting himself slip back into the haze of arousal and pleasure.

He was distantly aware that Artemus had moved lower, mouthing his bare stomach and along the waistband of his tight trousers, brushing his hands along Jim’s hips and tense thighs. A sudden touch to the bulge at his groin made Jim cry out, and when Artie unfastened Jim’s trousers and bared his hard cock, still sticky from his earlier climax, Jim couldn’t stop himself from reaching for his partner and pulling him down to lie atop him. The full-body contact had James rocking hard against Artemus, straining to rub himself, trying to reach completion. It took him almost a minute to realize that Artie was not only not participating in the action, but also repeating his name over and over, trying to get his attention.

James stopped moving, his breath coming heavily. Artie pushed himself up once more and looked Jim in the eye.

“Would you like me to tie you down, Jim?” he asked mildly.

Jim gasped and flushed, the very idea taking him even higher. But he wasn’t ready to be restrained. He’d given up so much control to Artemus as it was.

“No!” he panted. Then, a little calmer, “No, I’ll stay still.” He settled back down, letting Artie take him by the wrists again and place his arms back beside his head. Jim knew, though, that his partner had seen his reaction, and that some future day, they would take that path.

“That’s good, James.” Artemus ran a soothing hand along Jim’s side, dipping under the open waistband of his trousers. “Let me take care of you.” And then both Artie’s hands were at Jim’s waist, gently removing his pants and undergarments together, stripping them down his legs and off, to fall to the floor, forgotten.

*****

  
If Artemus had stopped to think about it, it would have been obvious. Reclaiming control, taking back some of the power that Jim had taken away, however unwittingly, on that cold cavern floor those long months ago. To have his strong, virile, controlled partner writhing at his touch, totally at his mercy — a heady feeling indeed! Artie knew Jim’s moans and cries were unintentional and uninhibited, making them all the sweeter. The sounds stoked Artie’s arousal and as he bared his partner’s flesh and worked his way down Jim’s body, alternately soothing and arousing, he contemplated how he was going to feast on the banquet laid before him.

Artemus knew that in this state James would deny him nothing. He’d bet that he could even make his stoic partner beg. But he had other goals. Artie was determined to rebuild their foundation of trust. There were demons to banish from both their souls: Jim had to learn to trust himself again, and Artie needed to reassert control, bring their partnership back to the equilibrium they’d enjoyed before Loveless poisoned it.

Artemus stripped the remainder of his own clothing quickly while gazing at his partner, spread naked and erect, heavy eyed and panting before him. He watched Jim’s eyes widen as he bared his own impressive erection. Appreciation? Fear? It didn’t really matter to Artemus. He’d taken control, and he meant to hold the reins firmly until he’d made his point, and they both got what they needed.

Silently, Artie climbed onto the bed, knees on either side of Jim’s legs. He settled himself snug against Jim’s thighs and began touching, stroking, caressing. Artie soon turned his soothing touch to arousing, with scratches and light pinches to the tender skin of Jim’s chest and torso. When Jim was no longer able to keep still, twitching and shivering in response to his hands, Artie bent down and started using his mouth. The soft cry he got when his lips touched Jim’s right nipple was music. The shiver and arch when his fingers plucked at Jim’s left one was pure enchantment.

This was what Artie wanted: James West giving up control to him. Artemus used his hands and mouth, fingers, nails, teeth, lips, tongue up and down Jim’s furred chest and around his sides as far as he could reach. He neglected nothing above the waist, biting and sucking along jaw and throat and neck, nipping at ear lobes.

Soon Jim was twisting his upper body — lower body pinned by Artie’s weight — writhing and arching, trying to press against him. The moans from earlier were back in force, resolving into words every now and then — “Yes” and “Oh God” and “Artie!” — before turning incoherent again.

Jim managed to keep his hands from grabbing at Artie for a while by clutching the sheets. But the next time Artemus suckled at his nipples he obviously couldn’t contain himself. This time he didn’t grab or push. He just brought his hand up and cupped Artie’s head, fingers curling lightly in cadence with his moans. Artemus allowed it. It felt good. In fact, it felt wonderful. James was touching him gently, affectionately.

Artie was shocked to feel tears well in his eyes. He’d no idea until this instant how much he’d missed knowing that someone, somewhere thought kindly of him. No, that wasn’t it. He’d missed the certainty that James West thought well of him. Since the serum and the cavern, Jim hadn’t trusted him, had treated him as an unpleasant reminder. When they met up again in that saloon cellar, Jim still seemed to see him a temptation to avoid. But that soft hand in his hair… Artie sent a swift prayer winging to whatever gods watched over the hearts of aging spies. Please let it mean that James would take him back, that he could get back the home he’d walked away from months ago on the Kansas-Missouri border.

Artemus renewed his attentions, shifting downward on Jim’s body to lick and suck at his flat, firm belly, Jim’s hand sliding off his head as he moved out of easy reach. Artie rubbed his face against the soft skin over hard muscle, breathing in the scent of his partner. There was hair, too. Curled and wiry, but also soft. It had trapped Jim’s musky male odor, releasing it to Artie’s nose as he nudged indulgently along the edges of Jim’s pubic thatch.

Distracted by soft skin and crisp hair, Artie was surprised to find himself so close to Jim’s excited cock. In fact, it was bumping under his chin, leaving spots of pre-ejaculate. He could smell the sharp tang so close to his face and it made his mouth water.

How would Jim react if Artemus licked him? Would he like it? Would the tip of Artie’s tongue on the tip of Jim’s cock excite or repel Jim? Artemus thought of James’ mouth on his cock, and felt himself twitch. He thought of tasting Jim’s cock, and felt himself swell. Artie’s body had made its choice, and he would follow.

It took only a slight turn of his head, and there it was in all its elegant beauty, so close he could barely focus. Artemus drew back a little so he could see all of it. The head: red, swollen, and glistening with fluid, peeking shyly from the foreskin. The hard, straight shaft: covered in that velvety collar of flesh, rising proudly from its nest of curls. The tight globes of Jim’s testicles: dusted with sandy brown hair, pulled in tight, showing as much as anything how aroused his partner was.

Able to wait no longer, Artie leaned in again and swept his tongue across the slit. Jim cried out immediately. That was all the encouragement Artemus needed, and he began using his mouth to explore Jim’s cock, licking the head and under the foreskin, flicking the sensitive area under the glans with the tip of his tongue, lipping along the bulging vein on the underside of the shaft. Artie was determined to indulge himself and enjoy every sensation available from this experience.

Remembering how an expensive courtesan once pleasured him with her mouth, Artie opened his lips wide and took Jim’s cock into his mouth as far as he could. When Jim cried out again and bucked upward, Artemus reached an arm out and pinned his partner’s hips. With Jim immobilized, Artie was free to investigate. His tongue could feel the details — the pulsing as even more blood swelled Jim’s cock, the slipping of the foreskin around the shaft, the weight of his partner’s penis against his tongue. And the rich taste — like wine in its complexity — the new pre-ejaculate, clear with hints of bitter and salt and sweet, the sweat of Jim’s body, and finishing with the lingering aftertaste of older ejaculate from Jim’s orgasm, salty and thick against his palate.

Artie was distantly aware that Jim’s hand was back in his hair. Tongue pressing firmly along the underside of the shaft, Artie hollowed his cheeks and sucked. Jim’s hand clenched painfully against his scalp as he reacted vocally to the new sensation, but loosened almost immediately.

Artie felt Jim’s body shifting, and raised his eyes to look at his partner. Jim had curled up and was resting on one elbow, hot eyes watching Artemus, breath coming fast. Their eyes met and held. James took his hand from Artie’s hair and affectionately ran his fingers over his partner’s face, coming to rest on Artie’s lips where they wrapped around his cock.

Artemus watched Jim’s face change. The raw hunger eased to a look of poignant tenderness. Something must have snapped into place at that instant, like the clever accoutrements on the train, hidden until they were needed, then with the turn of a lever, suddenly brought into view. All that they’d had before, the trust, the friendship, the deep ease, returned full-blown. And with that blessed renewal Artemus sensed the birth of something fragile and precious, an even deeper connection he’d never thought to see in his own life.

Artie paused in his ministrations, eyes on Jim’s, wide with wonder and uncertainty. How was he to nurture this gift? Did his partner even realize it was there?

Apparently so, for with a flurry of motion, Jim sat up as far as he could, abdominal muscles straining. He grasped Artie’s shoulders and pulled steadily while he pleaded, “Come up here. Please Artemus. Let me kiss you. I want to kiss you. I need you to kiss me. I need you with me. Please, be with me.”

Control be damned! Artie couldn’t ignore that petition. James was letting him know that he needed the closeness they’d lost, and Artemus would give anything if it would show James they were together in this need.

So Artie went, letting Jim pull him so that he lay full-length atop his partner. Artie sighed with contentment as Jim wrapped him in his arms. When Jim spread his legs, Artie adjusted his position slightly so that they were pressed together groin to groin, and the sensation of their cocks settling together caused simultaneous exhalations of pleasure.

Leaning his head down, Artie kissed his partner, softly and gently at first, then again more deeply, until they were passionately moaning into each others’ mouths and tangling their tongues together, never quite sure if Artie’s was in Jim’s mouth or Jim’s was in Artie’s. Artemus briefly wondered if James could taste himself, then let all concerns go as they shared a soul-deep connection.

As the kiss intensified, James and Artemus began to rock against each other. Their hips moved to that age-old rhythm, and their excitement built as their cocks rubbed and stroked each other in the humid cavern between their bodies. Sweat and leakage smoothed the way.

It was simple frottage, a young man’s satisfaction, but combined with the kisses and the emotions he barely dared admit to himself, Artie found he was uncontrollably aroused. Unable to delay any longer, he arched his pelvis and drove his hips into his partner’s groin with all his might. Three thrusts, and he erupted. Spurt after spurt of hot semen spread between them as he climaxed. He could hear himself babbling endearments to Jim, things he’d never said to any woman, things that revealed clearly how deeply he felt for his handsome young partner, but he couldn’t stop himself.

In the aftermath of his orgasm, Artie’s head dropped to Jim’s shoulder, and he sighed. He tried hard to concentrate on his partner, knowing that James had yet to climax, but all he could do was keep his hips as rigid as possible, giving the other man something to push against.

Artie’s seed had spread slick and hot where their bodies met, lessening the friction but increasing the slide. Jim was close. Artie could feel it in the irregular shudders of his partner’s hips. One particularly strong thrust, and without warning, Jim’s hard cock slipped between Artie’s legs, rubbing behind his scrotum along the sensitive skin there, and nudged at his opening.

James froze. This, more than anything, brought Artie out of his stupor. He pushed himself up on arms like rubber and took in the expression of fear and want on his partner’s face.

“James, what is it? Why’d you stop?”

“So close, but, God, Artie. I don’t want to hurt you.” Jim’s voice was thick with need. “Don’t let me hurt you!”

“It’s all right, my boy. You’re not hurting me,” Artie soothed. “I see how much you need it, but you can still stop.” Artie squeezed his thighs together, tightening down on Jim’s erection. “Does it feel good, where you are?”

Jim’s gasp was almost a sob. “Jesus, Artie, yes!”

“Move, James. Use my legs. It will feel so good…”

Jim did as he was bid, and started to move again, tentatively at first, but with more vigor and strength as his arousal built back to its previous level. Artemus could feel Jim’s penis swell and harden between his thighs. Every so often the shaft would slide along Artie’s perineum and the tip would graze the delicate skin of his anus. Sated as he was, Artie still found himself reacting with pleasure to these strokes, and he felt his own cock try to respond. Artemus filed this information in the back of his mind for later consideration, but kept most of his concentration on his partner, who had regained and overtaken the point where he’d stopped before.

On his back as he was, Jim couldn’t get much leverage, but his strength had the both of them lifting off the bed as he thrust his hips forward, straining towards completion. Artie pushed back to meet him, squeezing his legs together, helping Jim as much as he could.

Jim shouted when he came. Then, as he pulsed out the last of his orgasm, he whispered so softly Artemus was sure he wasn’t meant to hear the words that warmed Artie to the heart: “Missed you so much, Artie. So much…”

The partners lay panting in the aftermath of their passion. Arms that had before gripped with the strength of need now cradled with gentleness and affection. Spent, Jim and Artie would at random rouse themselves to deliver a few tender kisses on whatever skin they could reach before subsiding again into post-coital languor.

Eventually, Artemus gathered enough energy to wipe the cooling semen off them both with the topsheet of the bed. Bunching the soiled linen to the side, he pulled the blanket up over their shoulders, and they settled in to sleep the afternoon away.

When they awoke, they could discuss the future — how they would collect Artie’s things from the boarding house, travel together to Denver, and talk Colonel Richmond into reestablishing the partnership. Artemus was pretty sure that the colonel had sent Jim to Virginia City with exactly that in mind, and smiled slightly as he drifted off with the thought of how Richmond would react if he ever discovered just how well his plan had worked.


End file.
